Cornerstone
by in48frames
Summary: Post-finale. When Rachel wakes up after getting shot, she is shocked to discover that Michael is alive. With everything they've known being shaken once again, Tom and Rachel must find a way to move forward into their new lives.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _After writing "Bloodrush," I started thinking about the idea of Michael coming back, making Rachel's recovery less about her gunshot and more about… everything else. If they did this on the show, I'm sure they would mine it for months and months of drama, which is not my style, but hopefully you'll enjoy what I've done with it. I will update every second day as long as nothing comes up. The rating is M for later chapters, and those chapters will be marked. Thanks for reading!_

 _Lyrics from Small Victories by Folly & The Hunter. Title from Cornerstone by Luke Sital-Singh (which is really the theme song)._

* * *

 _So I stormed out of the mist into a frail happiness,  
the kind that feels like you're giving in.  
I flirted with defeat in the face of coming heat,  
and started walking dead for days on end.  
How can I see what it all means to me  
as I walk into the unknown?  
All that I need are these small victories._

Tom was sitting by Rachel's bedside, watching over her sleeping form for the second—or was it the third?—day in a row. She hadn't woken up, her body slowly recovering from the massive blood loss and trauma to her shoulder. She _would_ wake up, the doctors had promised him that, but she hadn't yet.

He heard a commotion in the hall, which was an anomaly. Tex and Bertrise and a few sailors had camped out in the waiting room, and the whole floor had been mostly silent since the doctor had told them that she would wake up when she woke up and all they could do was wait.

Now it sounded chaotic, with a doctor saying, "Sir, the security on this floor—" and Tex saying, "Look, I don't know what the hell you think you're doing—" and Chandler got up to check it out, running his eyes over Rachel's body first and pressing his lips to her knuckles.

Out in the hall, a doctor was standing with a clipboard near the nurses station, looking ready to call security, which they wouldn't need as long as Tex was backing the guy up against the wall, sailors planted in the background ready to move at any moment. Really, the guy didn't look like much of a threat—tall enough, but otherwise unassuming, though he needed a haircut and a shave.

Tex glanced across as Chandler approached, backing away to let Chandler take point, but Tom only walked up to the man and took a closer look at his face.

"You must be Michael," he said, putting a hand out to shake, and the other man looked around, confused by the change in tone as he tentatively shook Chandler's hand. Still holding onto his hand, Chandler turned to Tex. "You recognize him, don't you, man? From that picture on Rachel's computer."

Tex took another step back, tilting his head like he needed to get a better look, and said, "No kidding. You know, everyone thought you were dead."

Still backed up against the wall but with a little more room to move, Michael raised his hands to his hair, running them through and down over his beard, flustered. "Yeah, well, that's why I'm here. But then I hear Rachel's been shot? I still don't understand how that happened."

Chandler sent Tex a significant look and gestured to the others, asking Tex to settle them down while Chandler took the man down the room to the window of Rachel's room. As soon as he saw her, he bolted for the door, but Chandler stopped him.

"Listen, if you want to talk, we should do it out here." Michael nodded quickly, his eyes locked on the window, so Chandler went on, "I guess Rachel's work didn't used to be dangerous, but with this plague, trying to develop the cure—let's just say she went through a hell of a lot on that ship of ours. More trauma and blood and guts than she was probably expecting to face, but she made it through all of that. She got shot after the new president's inauguration, in a place crawling with Navy and security. It never should have happened. But she's going to be fine. She just hasn't woken up yet."

"I need to get in there," Michael said, and Chandler simply nodded, waving him in. If he were in Michael's position, he would be going out of his mind, and as he watched Michael enter the room and take Chandler's chair at the bedside, picking up Rachel's hand, Chandler was torn.

He empathized to a degree that was almost painful, but he also hated—absolutely hated—that he'd just lost his place at the top of the list of people worried about Rachel. Not because he wanted to be there—god, he'd give anything for her to wake up so everyone could stop worrying altogether—but because there was now one person between him and Rachel, a person who could actually claim personal involvement.

Chandler was just—colleague wasn't even right, Chandler was just some guy who'd run the ship she'd had a lab on, the guy she'd gone through hell with but nothing more. She'd been _happy_ with Michael. That seemed like such a significant difference.

He couldn't sit by her bedside anymore, or be the one to watch her wake up. He was on the outside, now, and he _hated_ it.

Still, he stayed by that window, standing at parade rest and waiting. He may have to look in from the hall, but he would be there when she woke up, come hell or high water.

That moment came a few hours later, and with his eyes locked on her face he saw her trying to blink, shifting her head slightly, before Michael looked up and saw the same, saying, "Rachel? Rachel, can you hear me?"

When she opened her eyes all the way, monitors starting beeping frantically as her heart rate spiked, her breathing accelerating. She looked at Michael with horror in her eyes, unable to believe what she was seeing, and before the doctors and nurses rushed in to tend to her Chandler heard her say, "Am I dead? Did I die?" As soon as she saw the medical personnel she must have realized that didn't jive, and she started calling his name. "Tom? Tom?!"

He rushed into the room, brushing past the nurse at the head of her bed to take the hand that was grasping for him, saying, "I'm here, I'm here."

She clutched at his hand, staring at him in shock. "Tom, it's Michael. It's Michael."

"I know," he said, trying to keep his voice level. "It's Michael. He's here."

She glanced over at Michael, still frightened, then looked back up at Tom. "He is? He's here?"

"Yeah, Rachel. He's here, and you're fine. You're going to be fine."

Her heartrate began to slow, though it remained high, and her breathing came back down to normal levels. The doctor asked to see Tom in the hall, and then remembered Michael and invited him along as well as the nurses made sure that Rachel was comfortable.

In the hall, the doctor sighed, rubbing a hand over his chin. "I consider it _extremely_ unfortunate that she had to wake up this way. The shock likely piled trauma on top of trauma, and when coming out of a period of extended unconsciousness… it's the last thing she needs. For the sake of her recovery, she needs as much rest and _as little stress as possible_ in order to refrain from making that trauma even worse. However that needs to happen, please. Put aside your personal feelings, and do what's best for Dr. Scott."

Shaking his head, the doctor walked off down the hall and Chandler and Michael stood there for a moment, both looking anywhere but at each other. Chandler wanted to find a way to blame himself—he should have known better, he should have stopped it—but the truth was Michael had that history and relationship and Chandler couldn't do a thing about it. He really had no say here, which was already raising every hackle he had.

Heading back down the hall to the waiting area, Chandler didn't even look behind to ensure Michael was following, but heard his footsteps on the linoleum. They must have looked a state, because Tex was back on his feet the second he saw them, everyone else watching closely.

"What happened?" Tex asked.

"She freaked out," Chandler said, jabbing a thumb in Michael's direction, "when she saw _him_." Uncharitable, yes, but they might as well have all the facts. "We need someone neutral to talk to her." He faced Tex directly, meeting his eyes with all the command he still had in him, and asked, "Can you do that?"

"'Course, man," Tex said immediately. He waved the other men into the waiting room and walked off down the hall, shaking his head. Chandler and Michael took seats on opposite sides of the room, and Chandler braced his forearms on his thighs, leaning over and staring at the floor.

Tex told him about their conversation later. When he walked into Rachel's room, she was alone again, the head of her bed raised so she could sit up, and she smiled a little when she saw him.

"Hey, girlie," he said, taking the seat at her bedside.

"Hello," she said back. "Is everyone upset?"

"Well, yeah, darlin', you got shot. Everyone's pretty upset about that."

"But... Michael... I feel just awful."

"No one blames you for that. Not Michael, not Tom. The doctors want you calm and stress-free and right now that means you have to be selfish. Can you do that?"

She frowned at him, and he grinned real big.

"Now, I know that's gonna be hard for you, but if you don't act selfish now you won't be around to take care of other people later, you get me? Do you want me to tell Michael to get lost?"

The hand that wasn't tied up in a sling was plucking at the bed covers, fidgety, and as soon as Tex mentioned Michael she twisted her fingers up tight in the sheet, frowning even harder.

"Okay," Tex said. "That's the plan."

"It's not fair to him—"

"I don't give a rat's ass, pardon my French. At least as long as you're in the hospital, you need complete rest. If him visiting is going to stress you out, he's barred. No exceptions."

"Just as long as I'm in the hospital," she said reluctantly, glancing sideways at Tex.

"Sure," he said. "For now, I'll tell him as long as you're in the hospital. If that changes later, so be it. Now, the commodore..."

She glanced toward the door, then down at her lap, smoothing the sheet over her legs with her good hand. "It wouldn't be fair... if I won't see Michael..."

"Once again," Tex said, "I don't give a rat's. Will it stress you out?"

Her eyes shifted to the side, her hand still smoothing, and her lips pressed together before she gave a quick shake of the head.

"Okay," Tex said again. "The commodore's on the list. Michael doesn't need to know anything about that. I'll give him the boot before I say a word."

" _Nicely_ ," Rachel replied, giving him a hard look.

"Yeah, yeah." He said it dismissively, rolling his eyes, but then leaned forward and rested his arms on the bed rail. Meeting her eyes seriously, he said, "Have some faith. I'm gonna treat him like a kicked puppy, okay, because that's what you need. End of story."

Resting back on her pillows, Rachel sighed. "Okay. I won't be able to relax until you do it. Please." She looked at him with pleading eyes, and he got to his feet and planted his hands on the rail.

"I'm thinking I should send Bertrise in here while I'm gone, what do you think?"

She smiled and nodded, and Tex gave a mock salute before walking back to the door.

Before he pulled it open, he turned back and said, "By the way, if you're still needing neutral ground by the time you get out of here, I've got room and the angst of a teenage girl for distraction. No funny business, just a place to sleep. You can let me know later." Without waiting for an answer, he opened the door and walked back to the waiting room, going first to Bertrise and telling her Rachel was asking for her.

Once the girl was off down the hall, Tex walked over to stand in front of Michael, asking with all the politesse in his arsenal if they could speak in the hall. Chandler watched from his peripheral vision, pretending his intense focus was still on the floor beneath his feet. Tex spoke calmly, using mild gestures, while Michael ran his hands repeatedly through his hair, turning and taking a few steps away before coming back and gesturing with one hand. In the end, though, Michael walked away, disappearing off down the hall, while Tex returned to the waiting area.

Chandler was standing by the time Tex got to him, bracing himself for a similar talk, a similar dismissal, but Tex grinned and slapped him on the back. "Now that that's out of the way… I'm thinking the doc will be running out of steam soon, so you'd better get in there."

"Wait, what? I thought…" He waved a hand in the direction Michael had gone.

"Nah," Tex said, keeping a hand on Chandler's shoulder as he walked with him down the hall. "You're on the list, Michael's not. We figure he doesn't need to know that, but as long as he respects the boundaries, there's no reason for him to know." Tex stopped some feet from the door, glancing through the window at Rachel chatting with Bertrise from her bed, and said, "I'm sure she'll appreciate seeing you before she passes out again." With a final shove, Tex headed back off down the hall, probably to join up with his daughter.

Though loath to interrupt the girls' gab session, Chandler walked into the doorway and paused. Rachel looked up immediately, smiling softly at the sight of him, and Bertrise glanced over her shoulder and got up out of the chair.

"You don't let this man keep you from your rest, y'hear?"

Rachel blushed, waving her off, and Chandler smiled and said goodnight to Bertrise as they passed in the doorway, before Chandler took back the chair he'd been roused from hours earlier.

"How are you feeling?" he asked first, quietly.

After watching him warmly for a moment, Rachel set her head back on her pillows and closed her eyes. "Honestly… I'm exhausted."

"Any time you need to sleep," Chandler said, his tone reassuring, "just go right ahead." She opened her eyes again, looking calm and comfortable as she waited for the question she seemed to know was coming. "I was surprised," he said. "I thought you might've wanted me to go as well."

"Why?"

Why? A good question, and one he couldn't answer without revealing too much about his own feelings, which he was not about to do. "I'm not sure, I guess. I just want to make sure you're as relaxed as you can be."

"When did Michael get here?"

"A couple hours before you woke up, I think."

"And how long were you here before that?"

"Um, a few days. Why?"

Her eyes were struggling to stay open now, and she brought her good hand up to cover a yawn. "So you watched me sleep for a few days?"

"Not in a creepy way," he said instantly, and she laughed.

"I didn't mean that. I'm just…" She yawned again. "…about to fall asleep. Sounds like you won't mind."

"Go right ahead," he said again. "I'll be here any time you need me."

Her eyes opened then, staring at him for a moment, and then her lips curved up slightly as her eyes fell shut again, and she turned her face into the pillow, relaxing into sleep.

He was thankful, in that moment, that he was back by her side, watching her sleep. He hadn't expected it—he truly hadn't, and he wasn't sure whether he was under- or overestimating his importance in this case. Maybe she viewed him as completely neutral, so she didn't mind whether he stayed or left. That would be the worst case scenario, though it wasn't _bad_ at all.

He just hoped for the other option: the option where they'd formed a bond that was more than strictly professional, more than even simply personal, a bond that remained strong even when her long lost boyfriend showed up at the hospital to wait for her to wake up. He couldn't let himself believe that, not really, but some part of him hoped for it, desperately.

She trusted him, certainly, felt safe enough to sleep beside him. That was all he could count on for now.

A strange rattling woke him some time later, and he opened his eyes to see Rachel sitting up, awake. He leapt out of the chair he'd fallen asleep in, leaning across to cradle her face in his hands, turning it toward him, and she squeezed her eyes shut with a bemused smile gracing her lips. After a second, he realized what he was doing and released her, sitting back down heavily, chagrined.

"Sorry," he said. "I guess I'm not used to you being awake yet."

Laying her head back down on the pillow, she looked at him and smiled. "I was trying not to wake you," she said, and pointed to where her morphine button had gotten tangled in the mechanism of the bed, out of her reach. He made quick work of untangling it, and she sighed with relief when he handed it to her.

"You should have woken me," he said, gently scolding with a frown.

"Probably," she agreed, "but you looked like you needed it."

"Are you saying I look tired?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Mmm." She tilted her head, examining him. "You do, but more that you looked so peaceful asleep. Can't they get you a cot or something?"

"That would entail admitting I can't actually watch you twenty-four-seven," he said wryly, looking down at his hands. When he looked up, she was smiling at him again, and he smiled back. "Why are you in such a good mood?"

She pulled her lips into her mouth, between her teeth, and then brought the sheet up to cover her mouth. "I don't know. Blame the morphine. I'm trying not to think about… you know…" She gestured vaguely, dropping the sheet, and her eyes grew distant before she focused in on him again and smiled. "I'm happy to see you."

That sounded promising. Promising enough to make him a little dizzy with hope, and he turned his eyes up to the ceiling, blowing out a slow, calming breath. He looked back down, smiling at her, though there was a question in her eyes now. "I'm glad. Whatever helps."

She stared at him a second longer before giving up on her curiosity and turning her face to the ceiling. "So," she said, relaxed on her pillows. "What have I missed?"


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** _Lyrics from Stand By You by Rachel Platten._

* * *

 _Hands, put your empty hands in mine,  
and scars, show me all the scars you hide,  
and hey, if your wings are broken,  
please take mine so yours can open too,  
'cause I'm gonna stand by you._

Tom would have made good on that 24/7 if he'd had his druthers, but Rachel wouldn't hear of it. She insisted he go back to work, and arrange the flights for his family, and everyone who was able took turns sitting by her bedside. On weekdays, Tom would show up after dinner, relieving whoever was keeping Rachel company, and he tried not to pay attention to the way her face lit up when she saw him, tried to ignore the need he had to see her off to sleep—tried to minimize the fact that her breathing slowed with him by her side, and it never took her long to drift away, as if she could relax when he was there—but no, that was silly. It was nighttime, she slept. Nothing more to it.

When she was released, she went to stay in the apartment Tex was sharing with his daughter. Tom would go to work, have dinner with his family, then drive over to Tex's building, letting himself in with his key. Tex and Kathleen would say hello and then make themselves scarce (not that anyone had ever asked them to do that, not that anyone _would_ ever ask them to do that) and Tom would walk into the living room, where Rachel was camped out on the couch.

She would smile and get to her feet, no matter how many times Tom told her she really didn't need to get up. Padding up to him in her bare feet, she would wrap her good arm around his back, her cheek against his chest, and he would wrap his arms gingerly around her, holding her gently and rubbing one hand over the uninjured half of her back.

Then she would sit down again, one leg folded up under her so she could face him fully, and he would tell her the mundane details of his day, her update on the world outside. He would stay until she started to droop, and then they would repeat the same process in reverse, getting to their feet and standing in a careful hug before Chandler let himself out of the apartment and went home.

He tried not to think about it.

Neither of them were alone in any respect, so it didn't make sense for them to be lonely, or starved for human touch.

Not unless her touch was different, his presence meant something more, but he wasn't thinking about that.

(Tom tried not to lie, but he was becoming a master at fooling himself. Her face still lit up when he walked into the room, and his heart did that stupid swooping thing, but it wasn't his place—she was recovering—there was too much going on—he couldn't put more pressure on her, not now. The fact that she was alive, recovering well, and accepted his daily visits without question was more than he would have thought to ask for a few weeks ago. He was grateful. He wouldn't push it.

When his heart tugged in his chest, when her hair fell in her face and he resisted the urge to brush it away, when he couldn't fall asleep without picturing her face, he told himself it was nothing. Just gratitude, just relief, not a situation. Not a problem.

When he looked at her smile and thought that maybe, maybe—he just cut it off. If there ever was a time, it wasn't now.

Ignore it. Pretend it's nothing. Keep dismissing it. Stay in control.)

It was a Sunday, when Chandler had been too busy on Saturday for a visit—and texted her maybe too many times apologizing, because it wasn't like he had a commitment or a responsibility, but—that he arrived to find Rachel sitting shell-shocked on the couch, clutching a mug of tea and wrapped in a blanket. Tex and Kathleen must have gone out, and he figured out why when he sat down on the couch beside her.

"Michael came to see me," she said flatly, and he looked at her hand to see she was gripping the mug with all her strength. It looked painful, so he reached over and put a hand beneath the mug before gently prying her fingers from around the handle. He put the mug on the coffee table and held her hand in his, rubbing her fingers to return some circulation to them.

"Doesn't seem like that went too well," was Chandler's cautious reply, and she shrugged a little, before wincing at the pain in her shoulder.

"He's the same," she said, staring straight ahead. "Or maybe he isn't. He couldn't possibly be. He was in China… Somehow he made his way back. Somehow he survived. He can't be the same after that, but it feels—" She looked at Chandler, her eyes filled with confusion and vulnerability and what almost looked like pleading. "He feels like a stranger. Like someone I once knew. I don't know how to tell him… I don't know…" She turned her hand palm up in a helpless gesture, even as he held onto it, and shook her head, looking down at her lap.

"Maybe it was too soon," Chandler said gently, hardly believing that he was speaking in his rival's favour, but knowing he had to do it anyway. "Maybe if you give it time…"

She looked up at him again, her eyes searching this time, scanning from side to side and then dropping to focus on his mouth. "You think I should give it time?"

That stumped him. No, of course he didn't think that, he didn't _want_ that, but he felt he had to say it. "I don't know," he said finally. "I just want what's best for you."

Her eyes dropped again, to their hands this time, and she spread her fingers with her palm still facing upwards, waiting for him to lace his own fingers in between hers and squeeze. "Who the hell knows what that is," she murmured, and stared at their hands in silence for a long time.

He didn't know what to say, what to do, whether he should do or say anything at all, so he sat with her in silence. His heart was racing, his stomach churning, and he had to count his breaths to keep them steady, but he kept himself still, his own eyes on their clasped hands, trying not to revel in the simple pleasure of her touch. _It's nothing_.

After a while, she came out of her trance and said, "I told him he could come back in a week. So I suppose I have a week to figure it out."

This wasn't about him. He took a deep breath, looking back up at her face, and laid his other hand on top of hers. Slowly, he said, "It's okay if you don't. If you can't. Whatever you do… whatever you decide… we'll all still be here. You've got a family now, right?"

Her eyes shot up to his, filling instantly with tears that quickly spilled over, and she took her hand back to swipe at them furiously with the blanket. "Damn it, Tom."

He reached out and drew her entire blanket-wrapped form into his arms, tucking her head under his chin and rocking gently. "Sorry. Made you feel human emotions. Party foul, I know."

She laughed wetly, rapping her knuckles lightly on his chest, then laid her head down and reached her blanketed arm out to rest at his waist. With his arms wrapped snugly around her, the solid weight of her against his chest and the swell of his heart within it, he realized that it didn't matter so much whether he thought it or not. The fact was, he was gone—far gone, down the path of no return, and no amount of berating himself inside his head was going to change it. He wasn't going to say anything—god, no—but perhaps it was time to simply accept the fact.

There was a relief in it, a release, and he let out a sigh, resting his cheek on top of her head and closing his eyes. If she wanted to move, she could move. He would be here.

The rest of the week was painful, mostly because Rachel was silent and withdrawn, chewing on the inside of her cheek and staring into space, and there was nothing he could do about it. After trying a few times with a story, he realized that she couldn't focus on anything else, so he stayed quiet. He didn't mind that—she didn't ask him to leave—but he did wish he could _help_.

There wasn't anything for it, he knew, especially if she didn't ask, so he was company and nothing more, hoping it would be enough.

When Friday came around, Tex pulled him aside on his way out the door. "What are you doing, man?" Tex hissed, a strong hand on Chandler's arm.

"What?" Chandler whispered back. Rachel had left the living room to ready for bed, but the apartment was small and he knew very well how easily voices could carry.

"You're just gonna let her stew in this, not say a word?"

"It's her decision to make, Tex, you know that." _This has nothing to do with me._

"Yeah, and you don't think she would appreciate a little push? She doesn't have all the information."

Chandler was silent, staring at the door. If he told her and it was irrelevant, he'd just exposed himself for no reason and it wouldn't change anything except possibly make her uncomfortable around him. Even if it did matter… shouldn't she make the decision based on her own feelings and nothing more? Unless she was wondering the same thing he was, in which case—

"If you let your cowardice—" Tex interrupted his thoughts and scattered them into defensive anger.

" _Hey._ " Chandler jerked his arm away, reaching for the doorknob.

"I'm serious, man," Tex said, watching him with genuine frustration. "If she makes the wrong decision because you were too chickenshit to tell her the truth, you deserve what you get."

Wrenching open the door, Chandler stormed out and slammed it behind him, before cringing at the obnoxious (and loud) display of emotion. Rachel had probably heard it, and who knew what Tex would tell her.

It wasn't that Tex was wrong, either. If she'd thought about it—if she'd considered it at all—she had to be wondering whether there was another side to this, more than just her and Michael, staying or going. _If_ the information was relevant, wasn't he causing her more pain by keeping it from her?

She could have asked, but he couldn't require that of her, not when she was already struggling. It was his responsibility to tell her. To balance the scales. To give her all the information.

Not that that made it any easier, Jesus Christ. He was terrified. But necessary? Maybe.

In the elevator down, he typed out a text: _Sorry. You're right. Can you get her to my place for dinner tomorrow?_

By the time he made it out to his car, the reply was in: _Yes._


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** _Lyrics from Lose That Light by Folly & The Hunter._

* * *

 _There are ghosts in the walls  
that still haunt you when you fall  
and despite it all, you have found some love.  
It's an order too tall,  
and it makes you feel so small;  
you can mourn but don't let it take you out._

He barely slept that night, leaving for the grocery store as soon as it opened at ten and spending the day meticulously working through the most complicated and time-consuming recipes he could find in the heavy old cookbook Ashley had brought with her from their house in Norfolk. He'd sent the kids over to Jed's apartment for the day, asking them to spend the night there, and so he moved around the apartment in an apron and a fog of intense focus, some classical music playing on the sound system.

Tex walked her to the door at seven, handing her off to Chandler with a significant look, to which Chandler nodded and rolled his eyes at the same time.

Rachel was oblivious to it all, still distracted, as she walked in and said, "I'm afraid I might not be the best company tonight."

"No pressure," Chandler replied, leading her to the couch and then going back into the kitchen to remove his apron. "I'm just here to feed you. Can I get you a glass of wine?"

"Why not," Rachel said, and he brought a glass for each of them out to the living room.

Everything was cooked and keeping warm in the oven, so he sat down with her and asked, "How are you doing?"

She took a gulp from her glass. "I'm what the experts might call 'a mess.' Tomorrow's the big day."

He nodded, watching her, but she met his eyes only in glances, looking around the apartment, so he let it go. "Well, are you hungry? Let's eat." The dinner itself was unassuming, nothing more than an excuse to keep him occupied throughout the day, and he didn't force her to talk.

They moved back to the couch after with cups of chamomile tea, and Chandler stared across at her, his chest tight and stomach flipping, as she gnawed on her bottom lip, her eyes unfocused.

Finally, he said, "I have to admit I'm having second thoughts."

She looked up in surprise. "About what?"

He kept his eyes on her, taking in and releasing a long, slow breath. "It's terrible timing. Might just make everything worse. Might also be the biggest mistake of my life if I don't do it."

She was staring back at him now, and said, "Do _what_ , Tom?"

"Tex talked me into it. Never ceases to surprise me what a romantic that grubby bastard can be."

"Tom?"

"Blame him if this is the wrong thing to do." He shut his eyes for a second, took one last deep breath, and moved across the couch toward her, holding his hands out in invitation. She gave him hers without hesitation, only looking curious as she tilted her head and held his gaze, and he said, "I can't let you go into tomorrow with only half the truth. And if it's irrelevant, it's irrelevant, but it isn't fair of me to keep it from you. I'm not going to make assumptions, or presume anything—"

" _Tom_ ," she said more insistently than ever, her hand wrapping tightly around his, and he glanced down briefly.

"Goddamnit," he cursed, "I didn't expect this to be so hard. I'm just going to say it. If you've decided to be with Michael, if you've made that decision, I respect it fully. But I—god, I would say this diplomatically if I had the first idea how, but—I don't want you to be with him."

Her mouth dropped open slightly from what he could only assume to be shock, and he went on quickly before she could say anything.

"If this is the wrong thing to say, if it comes out wrong, I'm sorry, but you need to know—I don't want you to be with him, or anyone else. I want to be the one—I mean, yeah, that covers it. I want to be the one."

He was out of breath by the time he'd finished, and out of whatever idiotic adrenaline had gotten him to spit it all out. He couldn't even look at her anymore, closing his eyes, holding her hand as delicately as possible so that she could pull away if she wanted to.

She didn't, but he wasn't ready to call that a win. Shock was a powerful thing, after all.

When he opened his eyes, after what felt like a significant period of time had passed, she was openly staring, her eyes slightly narrowed. He couldn't read her face at all, but she didn't look away, didn't avoid his gaze for a second, so he paid her the same respect and stared back into her eyes. If she was looking for a lie, or uncertainty, she wouldn't find it. If she was looking for something else, well, he couldn't quite say.

His phone buzzed, and he indicated it with his chin without looking away from her. "That's Tex. He'll be asking if you're wanting to leave."

She nodded, and his heart sank, his eyes falling shut again as he inhaled and then nodded and picked up his phone. He typed out a message letting Tex know to come up (something along the lines of _fuck fuck fuck come get her fuck fuck fuck_ ), then stood and walked to the end of the couch, offering his hand to help Rachel up.

She took it, and stood, holding on to his hand and tugging to bring their bodies together. Tilting her face up, she met his eyes and breathed slowly and steadily, only inches between their lips as he looked down at her.

"I have no interest in torturing you," she said quietly. "I was going to tell Michael we'd changed too much. That is, I still am going to tell him that. But…" She closed her eyes and stretched up to kiss him gently, one sweet kiss before she dropped back to her heels and looked into his eyes again. "This is good to know, too."

He stood still, dumb, his hands hanging at his sides and his chin pressed to his chest, and he didn't know how to feel. Exuberance was bubbling in his chest, trying to convince him he'd gotten what he wanted, but his brain wasn't entirely sure about that.

She stepped away, and looked at him, and said, "I'm going to need some time. Things may change in that time. But for now, Tom… I'm saying yes. I'm saying yes."

The exuberance won out, and a massive grin broke across his face. He reached out without thinking and gathered her back toward his chest, just holding her there, there where his heart wanted to explode, there where his lungs refused to take in oxygen, held her there to try to convince his body that it could indeed continue functioning. She clutched at the side of his shirt, her cheek pressed to his chest, and when she heard the racing of his heart she said, "Shh, shh," soothingly, rubbing her good hand up and down his back.

Tex arrived right about then, letting himself into the apartment and stopping in the door to the living room, where he cleared his throat loudly. Rachel shifted, but Chandler didn't move at all except to send a glare in his direction.

"Am I in the wrong house? I thought I was performing a rescue operation here."

"Give us a second," Chandler said, and Tex scoffed, muttering "a second" to himself as he went back out to wait in the hall. Setting Rachel back a few inches, Tom kept his hands on her upper arms, looking carefully at her face and saying, "If you need to talk tomorrow…"

She winced, and nodded. "I might call, or I might go straight to bed, or bake and eat an entire cake…" She smiled wryly, and he smiled back. "Either way, I'll text you. And I'll… let you know what I need. If that's a few days, or…"

"My stance on that has not changed."

"Whatever I need," Rachel murmured, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead before ushering her to the door. He dropped her off with Tex, who traded a long look with him, eyebrows raised, as Rachel headed down the hall to the elevator.

"If she wants to tell you, she'll tell you," Chandler said, and shut the door in Tex's face. He may have been right, but that didn't mean he was privy to everything.

Chandler didn't sleep much better that night, tossing and turning and worrying, and spent the day building a finicky little model fighter jet with Sam. It was 8pm when his phone rang, and he told the kids, "I need to take this in my room. Just knock when you're ready to go to bed," before hurrying into his bedroom and answering. "Hello?"

"Hey." Her voice was soft and slightly muffled, and there was no background noise to speak of. "Can you talk?"

"I'm good." He set a pillow up against the headboard and sat on his bed. "Where are you?"

"In bed," she said, "with the blankets pulled over my head. Unfortunately I don't currently have the means to build a pillow fort."

"Shoulda planned ahead," he said, and she laughed a little, then he waited quietly, listening to her breathing.

"Poor Michael," she said eventually. "He went through a lot to find me, and… you know, he… I mean, he…" She paused, her throat clicking as she swallowed, and when she spoke again her voice wavered with tears. "He thanked me for giving him something to come home to." She hiccupped a sob. "Even though I wasn't really here for him to come home to. He might not have made it otherwise."

He could hear the irregular bursts of her breathing as she cried silently for a few seconds.

"Poor Michael," she said again, sniffling. "He doesn't have anything now, and I have so much. That's what I kept thinking, while he told me these things. _I'm so lucky_. I just kept thinking, _I'm so lucky. I get to call Tom in a few hours and hear his voice._ I wish… well, I hope he finds what he needs. I really do."

She drew in a shaking breath, then whispered, "I'm sad. There's nothing there now, but I remember when there was. I remember before. Looking at memories from before… it hurts. Even though I know it's gone, it hurts."

Chandler turned the mouthpiece of the phone away as he cleared his throat, then brought it back to say quietly, "Of course. That makes sense. It's hard to grieve something that isn't physically gone. It confuses our bodies. But it's still grief, and you still have to go through it. Which sucks."

"Expert opinion from Doctor Tom Chandler," Rachel said, gently teasing, and he smiled.

"Do you think you got what you needed? Closure?"

She sighed. "I hope so. I don't think we'll be speaking again." She started crying again, a tiny whimper escaping her throat. "I just have to cry a lot, right?" she asked hopelessly. "Like three or four days of crying?"

"And maybe one of baking and eating an entire cake."

She laugh-sobbed, then continued to cry silently as he listened with his heart breaking for her. He didn't speak again until her breathing had settled, steady with the occasional sniffle.

"You wanna sleep?" he said, and then before she could even draw breath to reply, "Let me rephrase: do you want me to stay on the phone until you fall asleep?"

Another sigh, all the way up from the bottom of her belly. "Yeah. That sounds nice." He heard the rustling of her blankets, as she nestled into the pillows, and he decided to lie down as well, the phone against the side of his face. It was still early, and he could hear his children chatting in the living room, but he closed his eyes and focused on Rachel's breathing, waiting for her to fall asleep.

He went to work that week, and for the first time he didn't go directly to visit Rachel afterwards. He needed to give her time, and give her space, but every night around eight his phone would ring and he would hear her soft voice on the other end.

"Hey," she would say. "I just needed to hear your voice."

That first weekend, they had a big family dinner and movie night, the Texes and the Chandlers and Rachel. They piled blankets up in the living room, the kids all camping out on the floor with Tex, Jed in the easy chair and Chandler and Rachel on the couch.

The two of them started in opposite corners, if only because that was what propriety dictated, but they had a blanket and a bowl of popcorn to share and before they were ten minutes into the movie, Rachel had curled up on the middle cushion, her knees overlapping Chandler's, and by the time the credits rolled she had fallen asleep on his shoulder. Tex gave him a look when he got up to collect dishes, but Chandler just raised his hands in the air, like, _What can I do?_

The kids were going to have a sleepover, so Chandler hoped they were distracted enough not to notice when he carefully lifted Rachel into his arms and carried her into her bedroom. He set her down gently on top of the covers, then draped the blanket from the couch over her.

Before he could move away, she caught one of his hands and said sleepily, "You didn't have to do that," her eyes only open a slit.

He sat down on the edge of her bed, letting her hold onto one of his hands while he used the other to stroke her hair. She'd closed her eyes again, and his breath caught in his chest at how very beautiful she was.

He thought she must have fallen back asleep, but then she said dreamily, "I'd invite you to stay," rolling over onto her side and cradling his hand against her belly.

He stroked her hair again, leaning over to press a kiss to her cheek, lingering there for a moment and murmuring, "Someday," against her skin before pulling his hand gently out of hers and leaving the room.

Tex raised his eyebrows again when he saw him emerge, but Chandler didn't have the strength to do anything but shake his head, leaving for his own home.

She sounded strangely chipper when she called him the next morning. "I had a dream about you," she said cheerfully, "but I'll tell you about that next I see you."

"Oh yeah? When will that be?"

"Next Saturday. My turn to make dinner for you."

His dinner had had an ulterior motive, though. He didn't know whether to hope hers did as well, or hope against it. "All by yourself?"

"I might have a helper or two, but _I'm_ the chef. And they'll leave before you get here. We'll have the place to ourselves."

Now, why would she make a point of saying that?


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** _Thank you so much for the lovely reviews! They keep me going._

 _This chapter is rated M. Lyrics from All That by Carly Rae Jepsen._

* * *

 _When you need me, I will never let you come apart.  
When you need me, I will be your candle in the dark.  
When you need someone, oh, let me be the one,  
the only one._

The work week dragged, and he had to spend the day on Saturday baking an elaborate layered cake to stay occupied. He left it behind, since his apartment would be hosting the next movie night while he and Rachel alone would be at Tex's. Everyone seemed to know something he didn't; when he walked out of his bedroom after showering, shaving, and dressing in slacks and a dress shirt, Ashley ran up to give him a hug.

"You look great, Dad."

"Yeah, Mr. Chandler," Kathleen chipped in from the couch, making the OK hand sign. "Looking really sharp."

Tex intercepted him on his way to the door, holding him by the arms. "You're gonna do great, man. Just be natural."

"You all are freaking me out," Chandler said loudly, turning to send a glare to the entirety of the room.

It all just made him more apprehensive, expecting _something_ but with no idea what, yet none of that prepared him for what he saw when he let himself into Tex's apartment and walked into the kitchen.

He stopped in the doorway, the hand that was holding a bouquet of flowers falling to his side, as he was confronted by the sight of Rachel bent over at the stove, checking something inside, dressed in a form-fitting dress and heels. She turned and stood as soon as she realized he was there, but he was frozen on the picture of her bare legs, accentuated by the heels, leading up to the curve of the dress over her backside.

She was coming toward him, a big smile on her face, and he thrust the flowers out in front of him to stave off any attempt at a hug. The flowers distracted her, thankfully, and she set about finding a vase for them.

"Can I do anything?" he asked, and she waved him off.

"Have a seat," she said, indicating the kitchen table, still focused on the flowers. "Everything is mostly ready."

He was grateful to sit down and pull his chair up close to the table, just in case, but then he had to watch her walking around the kitchen in those damn heels and that dress, her hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders and her makeup delicately applied. The only time she was close enough to touch was when she leaned over to put the vase in the centre of the table, and he had to practically sit on his hands to keep from reaching out.

He couldn't decide between closing his eyes against the torture and watching every second of it because she looked so damn delicious, and he finally put his hands over his face, leaning on the table. "Why are you wearing heels in the kitchen?" he asked, muffled by his hands.

She was hesitant in her reply. "Well, we aren't going out, and the rest of the apartment is carpeted. Do you want me to take them off?"

"No!" he said too loudly. He rubbed his eyes and stared down at the table. "I'm just hungry," he said weakly.

She brought dinner to the table and sat down, smiling at him, and while it certainly helped to have half of her tucked away under the table, she was still almost too beautiful to look at directly. They both started eating, though Chandler had to keep taking gulps of water to battle the dryness of his mouth, and he gave his compliments to the chef.

"Thank you," she said. "I do have something to tell you." He raised his eyebrows, and she went on with a little rush of excitement, "I'm starting work on Monday."

He eyed her; her arm was still in a sling, but she was strong, almost completely recovered. "That's great," he said, smiling back, wondering, _Is that why you brought me here?_ "What are you going to be doing?"

They chatted on over dinner, and then Chandler offered to clean up, but she refused him. Maybe she wanted to prove her recovery, her resilience, but all Chandler knew was as she moved about the room and washed dishes at the sink, he couldn't do anything but stare. She wiped down the table and counters before dropping the cloth in the sink and washing her hands.

She put the kettle on and walked back over to the table, hoisting herself up to sit on its edge as she waited for the kettle. She crossed her legs, her foot bouncing slightly with impatience, and Chandler was out of will power. Getting up from his chair, he walked around to stand in front of her.

"Have I mentioned how beautiful you look?" he asked, and she blinked up at him, shaking her head as she uncrossed her legs, the combination of innocence and knowing unbelievably sexy.

He stepped into the opened space and reached for her waist, saying, "May I?" and waiting for her nod before he pulled her forward, right to the edge of the table. He kept one hand on her waist as he pushed her skirt up with the other, and then he pulled her the rest of the way, until their hips met and she exhaled sharply, her legs wrapping around behind him as he bowed his head forward, his hands smoothing over her backside as he held her tight against him. She toed off her heels, letting them drop to the kitchen floor, and he was almost embarrassed when that alone brought a moan out of him.

He leaned his shoulders back and brought one hand up to her face, holding her gaze for a moment as he searched out and found the same heat, the same intensity that he was feeling, and then he kissed her.

After all the time between them, their first kiss and then that split-second taste of her he'd had two weeks ago, kissing her properly now was overwhelming, a rush that swept over his head and chest and groin all at once, and for a while he couldn't do anything but savour it.

The click from the kettle was loud in the quiet kitchen, startling him just slightly, and Tom silently thanked the gods of kitchen appliances that she didn't have a whistling kettle, because he didn't think they'd be fetching it just yet.

With her arm wrapped tightly around his neck, Rachel pulled herself up and then ground down on him again, and he broke the kiss with a gasp.

"Are you," he said breathlessly, "are you sure you're ready?"

She just looked at him, her lips parted, and nodded, before her eyes dropped back to his mouth.

"Bed?" he said then, and she nodded again, kissing him hard before she tightened her grip on his neck and pressed her face against it so that he could navigate them to her bedroom. He lowered her onto the bed, then stood up, even as she let her hand trail across his shoulder and down his arm, catching his hand before he could go any further. He said, "Um," at a complete loss of how to ask, and she dropped his hand, pointing down the hall.

"Try Tex's nightstand," she said, and he raised his eyebrows at her.

"Has he…?"

She smirked, rolling her eyes. "Let's just say he's fed by boundless optimism."

"That sounds like Tex."

He returned in a matter of seconds, but found Rachel had pulled her skirt back down and tsked disapprovingly.

"It's cold in here," was her mild defense, as he set about pushing her skirt up to her waist and hooking his fingers around the edges of her panties.

He looked up then, cocking an eyebrow, and said, "Should I go adjust the thermostat, or…?"

She pursed her lips against a grin, shaking her head, and he slid her panties off and dropped them on the floor. He slipped his hands under her thighs and then around her hips and up over her pelvic bones, his hands spanning the lowest part of her belly as he looked up one more time from between her legs. She had her eyes squeezed shut already, her good hand clutching at the blanket, and he kept his eyes open as he tasted her for the first time, watching her eyes spring open with a gasp.

Then he closed his eyes and focused his tongue, working it until she was trembling under his hands, until she broke and shook with the waves of it, gasping and grasping for him, pulling him up to kiss her again. He laid beside her as she caught her breath, one hand still flat on her belly, until she turned to kiss him more easily, working her own tongue into his mouth and reaching for the bulge in his pants, massaging it with her hand.

He moaned, and she moved her hand to his belt, quickly growing frustrated at her attempts to undo it with only one hand. She broke the kiss and frowned down at it, finally managing to unbuckle the belt but then getting stuck on his pants button. She looked absolutely adorable, her brow furrowed and her lips pressed tight together, and he gently placed his hand over hers, moving it off and standing up to undress himself.

"Can you get out of that dress?" he asked as he started unbuttoning his shirt, and she frowned even harder.

"I can do anything. Including—" She gestured to his outfit. "—all of that."

"I have no doubt," he said, amused, and pulled his shirt over his head, undoing his pants as she unzipped the side of her dress and shimmied out of it. This required a certain arch of the back from Rachel, almost writhing against the bed, and he was straining against his underwear by the time he could pull it off and put the condom on. She kept her sling on, a reminder he was grateful for, even if she was so much stronger than before.

He climbed back onto the bed, positioning himself over her, and met her eyes. "Ready?" he asked.

She nodded, keeping her chin high and anchoring her hand at the base of his neck as he eased inside of her. She inhaled deeply, and on her exhale said, "Don't wait for me."

"What?"

She held his gaze, arching up against him and kissing him before pulling back and saying, "You don't have to wait for me."

He grunted his displeasure and said, "I don't _have to_ do a lot of things."

She scratched her nails through his hair, letting out a breathy laugh, and said, "I just reverse-psychology'd you into the best orgasm of my life, didn't I?" He grunted again, and she laughed again, and he turned his focus to the soft skin under her chin, building a slow and steady rhythm as he worshipped and tasted and caressed as much of her skin as he could reach.

It certainly wasn't that he would have done anything differently, without the challenge, but triggering his innate stubbornness was always a recipe for unparalleled determination, and giving her another earth-shaking orgasm definitely improved his own release, when he let it happen.

They curled up together afterward, and Rachel said, "D'you think I learned my lesson?"

"Do you ever?"

She slapped lightly at his hand, where it rested on her waist. "Hey."

He stretched his head back on the pillow, lengthening his neck without moving his body away from hers, and said, "I'm not complaining."

"You'd have no ground to stand on if you were."

"I'm not!" he said again, grinning at the ceiling, and she fell silent, her fingers folding around his.

She was silent long enough that he thought she'd fallen asleep and was about to get up to turn the lights off when she murmured sleepily, "I gotta get my own place."

He raised a hand to move her hair off the back of her neck, placing a kiss at her hairline and murmuring back into her skin, "Yeah, you do." He kissed her again and then got up, turning off the lights on the way to the bathroom and returning to find her fast sleep.

He woke before her, though it wasn't early and he didn't get up until she began to rouse. Then he went to the kitchen wearing his slacks and undershirt and started a batch of pancakes. Once the smell filled the apartment, Rachel emerged from the bedroom yawning, wearing only his dress shirt and her sling.

She sat down in a kitchen chair and said grumpily, "Why'd you put your shirt on?"

He grinned, turning as the kettle clicked off and pouring her a cup of tea, bringing it to her at the table. "You realize this is still Tex's apartment," he said. "I'm not walking around half-naked in Tex's apartment.

As if in answer, they heard the small noises of the lock on the front door opening, and Rachel's eyes widened as she leapt up from her chair and ran back into her bedroom. Chandler couldn't wipe the grin off his face, and as the children filed into the kitchen, followed by Tex, he poured more batter on the griddle.

The kids were chattering away loudly as they grabbed glasses of juice and sat down around the kitchen table, and he heard more than one happy exclamation of "Pancakes!"

Tex came up to him at the stove to give him a hearty slap on the shoulder, and Chandler muttered through his grin, "You couldn't have had breakfast over there?"

"You were out of OJ, man. I put them off as long as I could. Trust me, I did not want to walk in on—"

Rachel rejoined them in the kitchen, dressed for the day and smiling. "Hey guys," she said on her way through, coming up beside Chandler and kissing him on the cheek. While she was on her toes (and Tex was making gagging noises and walking away), she said into his ear, "It's not like it was a secret, right?"

" _And_ you need to get your own place," he murmured back.

"Right," she said, standing beside him at the stove with her hand on his back.

"Are you two boyfriend-girlfriend now?" Ashley asked loudly, and Rachel raised her eyebrows at him before turning and taking a few steps toward the table.

"Would that be okay with you?" she asked, and Chandler froze at the stove with his spatula in the air, watching Rachel's back and the kids on the other side of her. Her good hand curled tightly around the hem of her top as she waited for an answer.

"Yeah!" Sam said, while Ashley shrugged.

"Sure. You're nice, and Dad really likes you." She looked past Rachel to make eye contact with her dad. "Like, _really_ likes you. Like, _really really_ —"

"Okay, Ashley!" Chandler cut her off, walking up beside Rachel to wrap an arm around her waist and press a kiss to her temple before carrying his plate of pancakes to the table. He heard Rachel blow out a relieved breath as she turned to the cupboards to fetch plates and then the cutlery drawer to pile forks on top and carry the stack to the table. Chandler got the syrup and the butter and they all sat down to eat.

The kids were tasked with cleaning up the kitchen so they could do their homework at the table, and Chandler walked back into Rachel's room to put his shirt on. She followed, closing the door, and wrapped her arms around him from behind as he tried to button up his shirt.

"Do you suppose they'd have an apartment ready for me to move into next weekend?"

He finished the buttons and left it untucked for the moment as he turned around and returned the hug. "Probably. I know my building is mostly empty."

She rested her cheek on his chest, her hands clasped behind his back, and said, "Would that be… weird? Living in the same building?"

He snorted a laugh. "Unless the building snaps in half and falls into the sea, I think we're good."

"Fair enough." She stayed where she was for a minute, then looked up for a kiss, which turned into a few kisses, before leaving him to finish tucking in his shirt.

When Chandler left the room a moment later and walked down the hall, Tex bellowed, "Walk of shame!" at the top of his lungs from the living room. Turning into the room, Chandler found Tex in the armchair and Rachel cross-legged on the couch, covering her face with her hand and shaking her head.

Chandler gave Tex a long, unimpressed look. He didn't have to say what he was thinking; Tex just rolled his eyes, and Chandler went to sit beside Rachel, putting his arm around her waist.

"You want me to get your apartment sorted out?" he asked her quietly, and she laid her hand on his knee.

"If it's not too much trouble. Then we can move me in on Saturday?"

"No trouble, but won't you be tired after your first week?"

"Mmm. Maybe Sunday then. I mean, if you're going to make me do all the work."

He smiled, pressing a kiss to her temple, and she relaxed against his side.

"You two are disgusting," Tex said loudly from across the room, rattling the newspaper he was holding open in front of his face.

"Yeah," Chandler said, still talking to Rachel but raising his voice slightly, "we definitely need to move you out of here _as soon as possible_."

"Be nice," Rachel said, patting her hand on his leg. "After putting up with me as a houseguest for the last couple of months, I think Tex is allowed to be as rude and loud-mouthed as he likes."

"Thanks?" Tex said, sounding slightly demoralized as he hunched further into his chair and shook his newspaper out again.

Chandler laughed, laying his head back on the couch cushion, and Rachel folded her legs to the other side, resting her head on his shoulder and her arm over his waist. They lay there in a dreamy, lazy Sunday silence, the only sounds the kids' chatter in the kitchen and the rustle of Tex's newspaper.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** _Lyrics from I'm Yours by Alessia Cara._

* * *

 _And I wasn't trying to melt this heart of iron,  
but the way you hold me makes the old me pass away,  
and I would be lying if I said I wasn't scared to fall again,  
but if you promise me you'll catch me then it's okay._

The next morning, Chandler felt like it was the kids' first days of kindergarten again, not that he would ever voice that comparison to Rachel. He was so nervous he couldn't eat breakfast, and texted her three times before 8:30am, when she called.

"Hey," she said quietly, her phone picking up the background noise of wind and distant voices and her own footsteps. He could hear her walking, but no door opening, the background noise never transitioning to indoors, and then the wind changed direction and the voices and footsteps stopped. It sounded like she'd rounded a corner and then stopped walking.

"Hey," he said back. "You good?"

"Mmm. Hiding."

He leaned back in his desk chair, where he'd been since eight on the dot, since he couldn't relax at home anyway. "From?"

"First day jitters are normal, right?"

"Absolutely. One hundred percent." He sat there for a minute, trying to hear her breathing over the rustle of the wind. "Anything specific?"

"Yeah. It's silly."

"Okay. Tell me anyway?"

She sighed, which he did hear, and said, "People."

He didn't respond right away, thinking back to the early days on the ship. She had been prickly, standoffish, almost every conversation an argument. Then she'd softened, connected, shown her heart—but that had taken a long time. Still, she was different now. Even if her first instinct was to build her walls up high, he didn't think she'd be able to maintain them longer than a day or two.

"Silly, right?"

"Nope," he said instantly. "Not even a little bit. I'm pretty sure you're underestimating yourself, not that that's a shocking development…"

"Hmph."

He smiled. "…but even if it's hard at first, you just have to be true to yourself and they'll adore you."

"Biased much?"

"Remind me how many people were on that ship of ours?"

Her eye-roll was almost audible. "I sincerely doubt every single one of them would claim to _adore_ me."

"You just don't see it," he said quietly. "Even if I _am_ biased, it's only because I fell in love with exactly who you are."

Shit. He wasn't sure he intended to use _quite_ those words.

Sitting forward in his chair, he pressed the phone to his ear, trying to swallow past his suddenly desert-dry mouth. All he could hear on the other end of the call was the wind brushing past the mic. Fuck. He leaned his forehead on his fist as he waited for her to say something.

"I have to go in." Her voice was soft, and he glanced at the clock on his computer screen. 8:53am on her first day of work. Great timing. "I'll see you at five, okay?"

It hadn't made sense for him to drive her in, but he was going to pick her up at the end of the day so they could have dinner together. "Yep," he rasped, then took a gulp from his now-cold mug of coffee. "You'll do great. Have a good day."

"Bye."

He dropped his phone to the desk and sighed, then finished off his coffee and got up for a fresh cup. When he sat down again, he did his best to turn his focus to the work of the day. Just eight more hours until he could see her face and find out whether he'd scared her off completely.

He left a few minutes early, since he'd gotten in early too, and was sitting in the car at the front doors to her building at five. She emerged a few minutes later, walking alongside another woman, and squinted at the car before turning to say goodbye with a wave and a smile.

She got into the passenger seat and he waited for her to put her belt on, but she just clutched the door handle, not turning to look at him.

"Um—" he started, and she cut him off, peering through the windshield and pointing toward the other side of the lot.

"Can you park for a second? Over there."

"Okay…" he said slowly, pulling away from the curb and driving where she directed. He was trying not to think the worst, but this felt a lot like _we need to talk_.

He parked, turned off the car, and unbuckled his seatbelt, and an instant later Rachel was pulling her leg up under her and clambering over the console onto his lap, where she held his face with her good hand and kissed him. He put his hands on her waist and kissed her back, still mostly bewildered but slightly more hopeful. The kiss was focused, intent, until she paused for breath and sat back slightly. Resting her forehead against his chin, she curled her hand around the back of his neck, her fingers rubbing over the skin there.

He slid his hands up her back, one steady on her shoulder blade as the other rose up to stroke her hair. "You've either had a really good day or a really bad day," he said, and she laughed.

"It was good. Felt like getting back in the saddle, you know?" She sighed, a big sigh, and he felt a twist in his stomach.

"Is something else wrong?" He thought he should probably look her in the eyes for this, but he simply wasn't brave enough, just kept stroking his hand over her hair.

After another second, she made the choice for him, sitting up and facing him dead on. Her hand kept moving, raking up through his hair and then smoothing it back down, her thumb rubbing over that knobby bit of skull behind his ear, but her gaze was steady. "It's a heavy word," she said, and his stomach sank.

"Love," he said back, and she nodded. She was biting her lip, eyeing him carefully, and he let his hands drop from her back to lie uselessly at his sides. "I didn't mean—you know, I wasn't—I didn't plan to say that."

"It just came out?" she asked, and he nodded miserably. "It was the truth."

He nodded again, closing his eyes. "You—" He seemed to have lost the ability to speak in coherent sentences. "With Michael?"

"No," she said immediately, and he opened his eyes, a bit surprised. Her gaze dropped to his cheek, her thumb still caressing that spot behind his ear. "I don't know. I guess, maybe… neither of us wanted to be entangled. We were busy. We were devoted to our careers. I was… different… but I think maybe I loved him. Maybe we went about it all wrong."

She dropped her chin, hiding her face, her hair falling down to provide a screen. "That's part of the mourning, I guess," she said quietly. "Regret."

"Yeah." His hands itched to touch her again, and he had to confront the fact that he was flat-out too scared to risk it. He raised his arms out to the side, instead, stretching back against the car seat, increasing the space between them, but she tightened her grip on his neck and looked up, her eyes wide.

"I don't want to keep making the same mistakes," she said, emphasizing every word. "I'm not the same person and I won't let the person I used to be keep repeating in me like an echo. Do you understand?"

He blinked at her, the answer clear on his face, and she kissed him again, the way you can only kiss someone who has become your oxygen.

When she met his eyes again, she said, "You love me," almost certain but still holding the hint of a question. He nodded, and then she said, "I love you." Certain.

He started to smile, his brow still wrinkled in confusion, and she grinned, kissing him again and again as his hands finally came back up to cradle her shoulder blades.

Her hand was on his cheek, her fingers dancing across his skin, and she whispered between kisses, "I love you."

He laughed then, finally, out of pure happiness, and said back, "I love you," said it four or five more times as he kissed her back, his arms wrapping all the way around her shoulders and holding her tight.

They drove to the restaurant, eventually, and had dinner, then Chandler drove them back to Tex's building and parked in the visitor spots. As soon as he turned off the car, she was back in his lap, curling up against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her once more. They couldn't spend the night together, with work and school and roommates and children, so they sat out there in the car for an age, just being still.

After a bit, Chandler said softly, "You know I fell in love with you a long time ago." She nodded against his chest, and he said, "Does that bother you?"

There was a moment's delay, then she pushed off his chest to sit up and squint at his face. She peered in close, then sat back, and squinted at the ceiling for a second. "That's some narrative you've constructed," she said, looking back at him.

He was bewildered again, and shook his head.

"So…" She shifted in his lap, sitting back against the steering wheel, and gestured with her hand. "On this side, we've got you, steadfastly pining away, and on the other side there's me… what? Impervious? A brick wall?"

"Well—"

She shook her head back at him. "When do you suppose I fell in love with you? Yesterday?"

"I don't—"

She reached up and patted the side of his head fondly. "You've got a thick skull, Tom Chandler. You're lucky I love you."

"Yeah," he said, watching her. "I am."

She smiled then, and kissed him, and curled up against his chest with a sigh.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** _Lyrics from Cornerstone by Luke Sital-Singh._

* * *

 _If everyone's an island,  
every heart is made of stone.  
If only I believed that you were only flesh and bone.  
Maybe I'm drunk and maybe you should take me home._

On Friday, Rachel's new colleagues took her out for dinner and drinks after work, and Tom got a text just after midnight that said, _Oops gav them yor adres_ , and one second later, _pete ssake_. He hit the call button and she answered with a loud, "Tom!"

He smirked. "Are you downstairs?"

"I am!" she said, still too loud. "Can you believe it? All these buildings look the same."

"Do they?" he asked, grabbing his keys and heading for the door. "I never noticed that."

"Mmhmm. They do. Are you coming down?"

He closed and locked the door behind him, walking toward the elevator. "I'm on my way. I have to hang up, but stay put, okay?"

"Okay Tommy. See you soon."

When he got down to the lobby, she waved broadly from the other side of the locked entry door. He walked over and opened it for her, holding out his hand and taking hers to lead her to the elevator.

"I'm drunk," she said abruptly, and he smiled again.

"I kind of figured that."

Inside the elevator, she smacked the button for his floor and then slumped against the wall, tipping her face toward him so he could see her pout. "I'm sorry," she said dejectedly. "This is awfully inconvenient of me."

The elevator dinged open on his floor and they started down the hall, still holding hands, and he said, "You couldn't inconvenience me if you tried, sweetheart." He unlocked the door and led her over to the couch. "I'm going to get you some water. Sit down, relax."

When he came back with the water, she'd managed to wrap the throw blanket around herself and she said again, softly this time, "Tom!" Then, "Tommy. Thomas."

He set the glass down on the coffee table and sat down beside her, trying to supress his grin. "How are you feeling?"

"You know what?" she said, an exaggerated expression of shock on her face. "They took me out to get me drunk! Can you believe that?"

That got the grin. Everything seemed very shocking to drunk Rachel, much more so than her sober self. "Boozing up the new girl? Yeah, I can believe that."

"They said they wanted to hear all my secrets!" Drunk Rachel also talked with her hands, or the one hand she had free, and she kept having to grab the blanket to keep it from slipping off her shoulder. "Well, I showed them!"

"What, no secrets?"

"Well," she leaned toward him conspiratorially. "They asked me if I had a boyfriend. Guess what I said."

"Honestly, I can't imagine. What did you say?"

"I said—" She thrust her hand out in front of her, the blanket clenched in her fist, then reached for her other shoulder again, hiking the blanket up. "—just a one night stand! Ha ha!" A sharp sideways glance, like he might not get the joke. "Just kidding!" Eyebrows up. "See, it's the truth and not the truth at the same time." Barely a pause for breath. "You know I'm a brilliant scientist?"

"I had heard something about that," he said dryly, as if it wasn't taking everything in his power to keep from laughing.

"So I outsmarted them. Not that they aren't smart, too," she added, chagrined. "I'm sure they're also brilliant scientists. I might be smarter than them, what do you think?" An innocent lilt to her voice, she looked over at him again with a sweet smile.

"I thought you didn't approve of my biased opinion."

"Biased because you love me," she said knowingly, leaning in again, like she was in on something.

"Yes." He held his arm out and she let herself tip the rest of the way over, her bad shoulder nestling into the couch and her other arm wrapping the blanket around his waist.

When she was settled, her cheek against his chest, she said, "You know what's good?"

"I have no idea. What's good?"

"When you love someone and they also love you back. Wow! That's really good. Really really good."

He sighed, rubbing his hand over her upper arm, then reaching for her hair, tucking it away from her face and running his fingers through its length, his fingertips stroking over her scalp. "I have to agree with you there. Definitely better than the alternative."

"The alternative is horrible," she said vehemently, shuddering. "I mean, not that I fall in love with that many people. And I never really had time to think about you not loving me. But the idea is just absolutely horrible."

"Don't think about it," he said softly, his hand cupping the back of her head.

"Yeah," she said back, sighing against him. "Think about loving Tom, because that's wonderful."

"I'll take your word for it."

She pushed up to look at his face, staring intently. "Did you know that? That loving you is wonderful. You should know that."

"Thank you, sweetheart, and I'm glad, but only because you deserve the best."

She kept staring, shifting her weight so she could raise her hand to his face and squeeze his cheek. "Did you know that _you're_ the best?"

"Oh my God." He smiled and shook his head. "You are so drunk."

"I'm not that drunk," she replied instantly, and then, "Well, I might be more drunk than I thought, because I was busy outsmarting them, you know? So I wasn't as drunk until I got here. Or maybe you made me more drunk."

"I don't think I have that power."

She set her head back down on his chest, sighing again. "Sometimes it feels like drunk, though. Loving you."

"Is that so?" He _really_ wasn't sure what that meant, or whether it meant anything at all.

"In a good way. The best way. You know what's funny?"

"What is?"

She was silent for a moment, and when she spoke again, her words came out slow, not slurred but with long pauses between phrases. "On Monday, I had to work, so I didn't have time to think that much. And when I did have a quiet moment, I just heard your words over again in my head. Just spinning. And every once in a while, my… that voice in my head would say, are you freaking out? This is something that would freak you out, right? But I wasn't. I was calm. I didn't know why. But the more I thought about it, the more I thought… yeah, it makes sense. It just makes sense." She took a breath. "You know, based on the empirical evidence."

He laughed, and tried to shake out the weight that had settled in his chest as she spoke. "Of course. The empirical evidence." He paused. "That was pretty eloquent for a drunk girl."

"I wasn't at all certain those words came out in their intended order, so thanks." She yawned. "A lot of things make sense once you realize you've been in love the whole time."

"Poignant." He was almost too busy humouring her to process what she was actually saying, responding before the words sunk all the way in, and then she'd be talking again when the kick to his gut hit. Later, when he was trying to fall asleep, he would go over this conversation and wonder whether she'd actually said any of what he'd heard. It was too surreal.

"Thanks." She yawned again, and murmured, "I'm gonna fall asleep."

"Okay, love." He sat up, shifting her upright even as she groaned at him. "You need to drink your water."

"But then I'll have to pee." She pouted, her eyelids low.

"Sweetheart, you need to pee out all that alcohol anyway."

She sighed. Again. "The alcohol is in my blood. I have to pee out all the useless liquid that carried the alcohol."

"Yeah. That."

"Annoying."

"Okay. Drink your water."

He walked her down to her new apartment, which was essentially ready other than her stuff, and tucked her into the bed. The next day, she came up for breakfast—somehow "Rachel's coming over for breakfast" seemed like a much smaller step than "Surprise! Rachel slept over last night"—and they went over to Tex's to pick up her stuff.

They'd decided to move her in on Saturday after all, for two reasons: 1) she really only had three medium-sized bags and nothing else to transport, and 2) Tom could sleep over. Tex hosted lunch and then kept the kids while Rachel and Chandler drove back to their building.

Her apartment, a two-bedroom that was more than she needed, was three floors down from Chandler's, and came furnished. The president had implemented a program for the returning sailors and other government types who'd be moving to the new capitol, setting these apartments up much like homes on army bases, dishes and linens all supplied to make life easy for people who had lost everything.

The things were much, much nicer than base housing, but Rachel had never lived there and Chandler had been in captain's quarters for several years, not that he could ever really forget how he started out.

Someone had also filled her fridge and pantry, done a fresh cleaning, and made up the bed—only one, as the second bedroom was to be used as a study. There was even a shelf of books and DVDs, with a note indicating that a wider selection could be found at the central library building.

While Rachel unpacked and put away her clothing, Chandler set up her computer in the study and put her already-respectable collection of teas away in the kitchen. Then he joined her in the bedroom, watching her try to fold and hang clothes with one hand, before taking over and banishing her to the bed.

She was fine with that, flopping back on the bed and then sitting up to bounce and test the mattress. She ran her hand over the comforter and fluffed her pillows, then lay back on them and said, "This will do."

Chandler looked over his shoulder and smirked as he carefully folded her wool sweaters, tucking them away in a drawer before hanging up her tops in the closet.

"Aren't you a sweetie," she said a minute later, and he glanced back again to find her leaning up on her elbow, watching him work.

"A sweetie?" he said back, grinning. "That's a first."

"It's accurate, I think." She watched him a bit longer; he was almost finished, and she let herself drop back onto the bed so she could beckon with her hand. "C'mere."

He put down what was in his hands and approached the bed slowly, his eyebrows rising. "This turning you on?" he asked, gesturing back toward the closet and dresser.

"Is that a problem?" she asked haughtily, grabbing his hand as soon as it was in range and tugging him down onto the bed.

He put his other hand out to brace his fall, then brought his legs up onto the bed, reaching out to wrap his arms around her and draw her forward. Her head cradled in his elbow, she closed her eyes and smiled up at him, and he said, "Just good to know. For future reference," and kissed her.

They watched a movie later, snuggling up on the couch with Tom in the middle and Rachel sitting with her back up against his side and her toes pressed into the arm of the couch. She held the bowl of popcorn in her lap, and he curled his arm around her waist, occasionally using the same hand to grab a handful of popcorn.

While the opening credits rolled, Chandler said, "Think we'll ever have a film industry again?"

"Good question," Rachel replied, leaning her head back against his shoulder as she watched the screen. "Eventually, I'm sure. They'll probably teach pre- and post-pandemic film at university, and there will just be a big gap in the middle." She shuddered a little. "That's strange to think about, isn't it?"

"Just focus on the fact that the only reason post-pandemic film will exist is because you saved the world." He squeezed her waist a little, and she wiped her greasy fingers on her pants before placing her hand over his and squeezing back. "You think there'll be a whole new genre of horror movies, or is that too close to home?"

"For _me_ it is. What about romantic comedies? Will they just keep pretending the world is perfect, or will the genre evolve completely? See, this is fascinating stuff."

"If we're lucky, we'll find out before…" He trailed off.

"Before we die of old age?"

He shook with a silent laugh. "Morbid. Sorry."

She patted his hand. "It might be nice to grow old. Especially if I don't have to do it alone."

Without meaning to, he inhaled sharply, and then held his breath in hopes she wouldn't notice. He exhaled a long, slow breath, watching the TV but not really seeing it. At some point, probably, he would have to accept that Rachel wasn't going anywhere; that they were really together, for real, and they'd passed all the points where she might have wanted to run.

Until he asked her to marry him, probably, but that was (probably) a while off.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** _Lyrics from Science by Folly & The Hunter._

* * *

 _There's a science to all our anxious sounds,  
and a progress that I just can't figure out.  
Don't let me push my weight, or give in to a lust.  
I need for you to stay, or we reunite with dust._

Strange as it seemed, they soon realized that Thanksgiving was approaching, their first real holiday since… before. Parts of the world were still in turmoil, certainly, but being that life in St. Louis had settled into a kind of normalcy, the citizenry seemed to collectively decide to celebrate. The grocery stores advertised specials on turkey, and city maintenance hung decorations from streetlights, and schoolchildren even made hand-print turkey art to take home.

Ashley was the most excited, practically bouncing off the walls as she assigned tasks and meal components to every member of their little family. The Chandlers would host, since they had the biggest place, and Ashley (with help from her dad) would take care of the turkey. She had lists upon lists, and every other sentence out of her mouth was preceded by the words, "When Mom did it…"

Tom was happy to see her happy, and did everything he could to help the occasion go off without a hitch. The two of them were dressed in aprons in the kitchen, Jed and Sam over at Jed's place working on potatoes or something, when Rachel arrived to help. She had brought dessert, several pies stacked in her hands, testing the strength of the arm that had been newly freed from its sling, and walked into the kitchen to find Ashley staring anxiously at the turkey sitting in the sink. Chandler had leaned his back up against the counter opposite, watching Ashley watch the turkey.

Glancing up and then back, Ashley said, "I don't think it's thawing fast enough."

Rachel looked to Chandler, who held his hands up in a helpless gesture.

"Should I change the water again?"

Stepping further into the kitchen, Rachel laid a hand on Ashley's shoulder and said, "What do the instructions say?"

"Change the water every thirty minutes," Ashley recited, "but that's to keep the turkey _cold_. Why would I want it to be cold?"

Rachel looked over at Chandler again, eyes wide, and he raised his eyebrows back, shaking his head. Neither of them had any idea how to thaw a turkey. After a second, Rachel said, "Well, why don't we just follow the directions and hope for the best."

Ashley nodded, then tucked her chin close to her chest, staring at the floor. Her bottom lip pushed out and began to shake, and as the tears in her eyes spilled over her eyelids, she said thickly, "Mom would know."

As Rachel raised her hand and Chandler took a step forward, Ashley shook her head and ran out of the room, down the hall to her bedroom, where she slammed the door.

"Oh dear," Rachel said, and followed Chandler down the hall to the closed door, where she stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Allow me?" She looked imploringly into his eyes, and he nodded, at a loss.

She knocked at the door, said, "Ashley, it's me," and eased open the door when there was no response. Chandler stayed in the doorway, the door open only enough for him to peek through, as Rachel walked to the bed where Ashley was sprawled face-down and sat down on its edge.

She laid her hand on Ashley's back, then took it back and tucked it in her lap before saying, "You know, I was a bit younger than you are when I lost my mum."

Ashley was silent for a moment, then she looked up, wiping the back of her hand across her cheek where her hair had stuck to the tracks of her tears. "Really?"

Rachel nodded. "Yeah. Not a very nice thing to have in common, is it?"

Sniffling, Ashley shook her head and said, "It really hurts."

"I know," Rachel said softly. "I know it does. I'm sorry you have to feel it too."

"Sometimes it's hard not to cry all the time." Ashley sighed, blinking out a few more tears. "Do you think it's weak to cry?"

"Oh, no," Rachel said instantly, "no, I know it isn't. Ashley, I'm going to tell you something, but it's a bit grim. I think you can handle it. Is that okay?"

Ashley nodded.

"My dad didn't like it when I cried." Rachel paused, and Chandler could see the muscle in her jaw flex as she clenched her teeth and swallowed hard. "He said that my mum died because it was her time, and it wasn't okay to be sad about that. When I cried, he would stand up and leave the room."

"That's awful," Ashley said, her eyebrows wrinkling and her mouth turning down in a sympathetic frown.

Rachel nodded, and reached out again to smooth her hand down Ashley's back. "It hurt, and it made me feel like I'd lost him too, like I had to change if I didn't want to be completely alone. So I did. I stopped crying."

Ashley's mouth hung open, and she shook her head, speechless.

The corners of Rachel's mouth turned up in a sad smile, and she rubbed Ashley's back, looking in her eyes. "I tell you this because… sometimes when people treat you badly, you learn better how not to be like them. It ends up being a gift. I want you to know… whenever you need to cry, it's okay. You're in pain, and tears are a part of the body's physiological response to pain. It's natural, and it's not weak, not at all. Actually, it's very brave and strong to let yourself cry. You don't have to hide it, but it's okay to want to be alone, too. You just have to do what feels right to you, and you'll make your way step-by-step through the hardest parts. Okay?"

Ashley nodded, and then her face crumpled and she started crying harder as she threw herself at Rachel and wrapped her arms around her, sobbing into Rachel's shoulder. Rachel just held her until she'd calmed down, and then Ashley sat back and wiped her face with her sleeve and said, "You'd make a really good mom."

Taking a deep breath, Rachel pressed her hand to her sternum as she exhaled. "That's a very kind thing to say. Thank you. Now, shall your father and I take over with the turkey?"

"No." Ashley sat up a little straighter. "I can do it. I just need to wash my face."

They hugged again, and Chandler took a step back, out of the line of sight, and waited for Rachel in the hall. When she emerged, Chandler took her hand and led her out of obviously-eavesdropping territory and into the living room before wrapping his arms around her. He held her close and she pressed her face into his shoulder, sniffling a little.

"You amaze me," he said quietly, and she turned her face enough to say, "Oh, hush," in her softest voice.

There was no further trouble in the kitchen; the turkey cooked perfectly and everyone showed up on time with their assigned food item. They didn't have a big dining table to gather around, but made do with the kitchen table and a card table, pulled out into the living room and surrounded by folding chairs.

Jed said the blessing and Tom carved the turkey and they went around the table saying what they were thankful for. The first round, every single person said 'family,' so they outlawed that word and tried again, which led to more creative answers.

The mood seem to waver between joyful and sombre, or maybe Chandler was projecting. He couldn't help looking around at this new, cobbled together family, and feeling both incredibly grateful for it and yet mournful for what they'd lost, for the people not sitting with them. Though they'd settled fairly comfortably into their new normal, holidays had a way of showing absences in stark relief.

He understood why Ashley broke down today, why Rachel looked more often down at her plate than around the table, why Sammy played with his food instead of eating it. Past Thanksgivings in their home had been almost charmed, fit for a holiday movie, and the contrast was glaring.

He wanted to fix it, to fake a jolly mood and preserve the magic, but thankfully, he had grown wise enough to know that wouldn't work. It was like Rachel had said, step-by-step through the hardest parts. Thanksgiving might always be one of the hardest, and he could only imagine what Christmas would bring, but they would get through it, always together, always hoping for a better day tomorrow.

Tom and Tex were assigned to clean-up duty while everyone else started on a board game in the living room. Tom put his apron back on and added rubber gloves, ignoring the look he got from Tex when the other man brought a pile of dishes in. He started the hot water and filled the sink, and when Tex brought the last of the dishes in he tossed him a dishtowel and said, "You dry."

"Sure thing, man." Tex picked up a plate from the drying rack and started to dry it. "How ya doin'?"

With the sink full, Chandler shut off the water and lowered his voice. "It's been a bit of a day. Some mom stuff. How's Kathleen?"

Thoughtfully rubbing at a plate, Tex said, "She hasn't mentioned it, but she's been quiet all day. I was never around for Thanksgiving, so it… probably feels a bit like an alien abduction, y'know?"

Chandler laughed a little, giving him a sidelong glance. "I guess. I'm starting to freak out about Christmas already, and it's still a month off."

"Lord a'mighty," Tex replied, in agreement. "It would be one thing if we had the old junk in the old house, but starting from scratch is gonna be like trying to scratch your ear with your elbow. I mean, speaking for myself—"

"Nah man, I'm with you there. Darien was the expert. She had it down pat. No matter what I do, it's gonna be a disappointment."

Setting one plate down and picking up another, Tex gave Tom a serious look and said, "Welcome to the ranks. Captain, U.S.S. Disappointing Dad. I will teach you our ways."

Finishing up with the dishes, Tom unplugged the drain and then removed his rubber gloves and slapped Tex on the back. "Captain. I'm gonna need all the help I can get." He walked around behind Tex to start putting dishes away in the cupboards on the other side, and Tex turned with him.

"I don't suppose Rachel…?" Tex said.

"I'd actually guess she's the least experienced of all of us, though who knows, she could prove to have a hidden talent." He exaggerated a sigh. "Wishful thinking."

They finished putting away the dishes and walked back into the living room, with Tex saying, "At least we're all in it together, right?"

Chandler's eyes went straight to Rachel, who looked up as they walked in and squinted at the interaction she saw. He absently patted Tex's arm and walked over to give Rachel a kiss, before standing next to her chair with his hand at the base of her neck and saying, "How's the game going?"

The four of them were playing Sorry!, but Tex pulled out a deck of cards and said, "That's boring. Who's up for learning some Gitmo Rules Poker?"

Chandler straightened up a little, raising his eyebrows at Jed, who nodded. "Who's our fourth?" Chandler asked. "Rachel?"

She reached her hand up to rub over his, and said, "Why don't you teach Ashley? I'll keep playing with Sam."

When Ashley lit up at that, Chandler grinned back and went into the kitchen for toothpicks. They moved over to the other table, while Rachel and Sam kept playing Sorry! Chandler kept one ear on Tex's instructions and one trying to eavesdrop on the other game. From what he could tell, Rachel would react with exaggerated dismay every time she got bumped back to Start, then find some loophole that kept Sam moving ahead until he was bouncing in his chair with excitement, about to win.

He wasn't sure if Sam was actually that gullible, or if it was just the fact that Rachel Scott could sell you the Brooklyn Bridge without blinking an eye, but he didn't blame the kid.

"Dude. Can you focus?"

Chandler realized he'd half-turned around in his chair to watch them playing, and turned back to Tex, chagrined. "Sorry. What?" They managed to play a few hands, eventually, but Tex was collecting all the toothpicks and Chandler decided it was just about bedtime for the kids anyway. He sent them off to brush their teeth and change, and the adults cleaned up the games and put the tables and chairs away.

The living room set back in order, Chandler headed down the hall to Sam's room to tuck him in first. At the door, he heard voices and paused, peeking around the edge of the door much as he had earlier in the day. Ashley was sitting on the edge of the bed, Sam under the covers, and she was brushing the hair back out of his face.

"…brave and strong," was the tail end of what Ashley was saying.

"She said that?"

Ashley nodded. "Yep. And it's a natural phys… physical reaction, like your body just has to do it sometimes. She's a doctor, so she wouldn't say that if it weren't true."

"Like a reflex?"

"Probably, yeah."

Sam just nodded into the pillow, his hand stifling a yawn, and Chandler pushed the door the rest of the way open, walking in.

"Time for bed, guys."

Ashley leapt up from the bed, tackling Chandler's waist for a hug before she ran back out into the hall toward her room. Chandler tucked Sam into bed and turned off his lights, then left Ashley reading in bed with a kiss to the top of her head.

Walking back into the living room, he found everyone more-or-less laying about in a typical Thanksgiving stupor. Rachel was curled up against one arm of the couch with a book and her reading glasses, and Chandler sat down beside her, cupping one side of her face as he spoke close to her opposite ear, saying, "I just caught Ashley telling Sammy that it's brave and strong to cry." Overwhelmed with emotion, Chandler pressed his forehead to her temple for a moment before pulling back to look at her.

She was smiling, misty-eyed, and he brought his other hand up, holding her face and kissing her.

"You amaze me," he said for the second time, very quietly, and she kissed him again.

Tex must have sensed the weight in the atmosphere, as he didn't even crack a joke when he and Kathleen got up to go home. Jed left seconds later, and then Chandler turned to Rachel in the foyer.

"Will you stay the night?"

She glanced down the hall, toward the kids' rooms, and looked back at him. "Are you sure?" They'd only spent the night together when the kids were taken care of, and even though they'd only be sleeping, it did feel like kind of a big step.

But he honestly couldn't think of one reason not to. "Yeah. I am. Will you?"

Stepping forward, she placed her hands on his chest and leaned up to kiss him softly. "Of course. Thank you for asking."

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her to his chest, and he couldn't help but feel like his heart was about to burst. He had honestly thought he was as in love with her as he could ever get, it had felt like he'd maxed out on loving her, but today had proven him wrong. Apparently, he had so much more to learn about her, and he knew he'd love every second of it.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** _Lyrics from From Eden by Hozier._

* * *

 _Babe, there's something wretched about this,  
something so precious about this,  
where to begin?  
Babe, there's something broken about this,  
but I might be hoping about this,  
oh, what a sin._

As they got into the groove of decorating for Christmas, after Chandler had driven the kids out to the Christmas tree farm and cut down a tree, brought it home and strung it with lights, he started to wonder about the idea of a holiday proposal. It would be cliché, but Valentine's day would be a hundred times worse, and he didn't want to wait any longer than that.

Sure, it was early, but time was short these days, and he didn't have any doubt about what he wanted.

The question was, did Rachel want what he wanted?

They went out for dinner one night near the beginning of December. No matter what restaurant they went to, no matter the day of the week, there was always a tucked away booth waiting for them, cries of, "Welcome, Doctor Rachel, thank you for dining with us, Doctor Rachel." She was a bit of a celebrity, these days. Chandler would be, too, but nobody ever remembered his name or what he looked like. He didn't mind.

He waited until the main course was served and Rachel was halfway through her first glass of wine, then waited until she had nothing in her mouth and there was a break in the conversation, and then he said as casual as he could, "Do you have any thoughts about marriage?"

She dropped her fork with a clatter, then looked down, surprised at the sound. When she looked back up, she had a deer-in-the-headlights expression. "What?"

"Thoughts," he repeated gently, folding his hands above his plate. "About, you know, marriage. For yourself."

"And you, presumably."

He shrugged, trying to smile a little and inject some teasing into his tone when he said, "Well, you can marry whoever you like. If that was something you wanted."

She picked her fork back up, taking a bite of her food and chewing it slowly as he watched, too nervous now to eat. "You _are_ asking for a reason," she said finally.

"Rachel…"

"Okay, okay." She waved her fork through the air, not looking at him. "Give me a second." She continued to eat, very slowly, a thoughtful expression on her face. Well, that was being a little generous. It looked more like she'd smelled something awful and was trying to figure out what it was and how to avoid it.

Turning back to his own plate, Chandler started cutting his steak into smaller and smaller pieces and pushing them around the plate without order. He forced a few bites down, chewing and chewing until he could manage to swallow the mush.

After a while, when she was almost finished her meal, Rachel reached down and rummaged around in her bag, pulling out a pad of paper and a pen, tucking her writing under the edge of her plate so he couldn't see it. She jotted a few things down, took a bite, wrote something else, then finished her dinner and wrote for another moment.

Reaching for her glass, she polished off her wine and then pointed at his plate with the same hand. "Are you going to finish that?" He shrugged, an inquisitive look on his face, and she reached for her bag. "Can we go back to my apartment, please?"

He tried to remind himself that the last time it felt like _we need to talk_ it was… well, it was _we need to talk_ , but in a good way. Communication is a good thing. Still, he paid and followed her out to the car with a sinking feeling in his gut.

At the apartment, she sat against the arm of the couch with her knees propped up in front of her, the paper lying on her legs, still hidden from his sight. He stared at the couch for a second, wondering where he should sit, but she held her hand out to him. Sitting at her feet, he took her hand in one of his and rested the other on her knee.

"So, I have some thoughts," Rachel said when he was settled.

"Go on…"

She looked down at her paper. "For reasons which have been discussed at length, marriage wasn't in the cards for me," she made air quotes with the hand he was holding, "'before.' I was focused on my career, so was Michael, et cetera. You," she gestured toward him without looking up, still with the same hand, "managed to find a balance. Obviously, it was important enough for you to be married and start a family even while progressing in your career. From this, we can infer that marriage is something you value—"

"Rachel…" he said mildly. "This isn't a dissertation."

She glanced up at him, one eyebrow raised. "You want to hear my points, or you want to criticize my delivery?"

"Your points…" He sighed, but squeezed her hand. "Go ahead."

"So, marriage is important to you. Not just family, which you have, but marriage, a contract that is legally binding and official. With the current state of the world, I'm of two minds. On the one hand, everything is so unstable that I can understand how a contract like that would be reassuring. On the other hand, the marriage contract has lost poignancy over the last hundred years, and significantly more so after the pandemic. It seems to me that you either choose to be with someone or you don't, and a piece of paper doesn't mean all that much. But, it's important to you.

"Having said that, we turn to the vows. Could I read the marriage vows now and mean them? Certainly. Do I know that I will always feel that way? No, but no one knows the future, so that point is moot. You either decide to be with someone or you don't, and I obviously have, as have you. Which means, if the marriage contract is important to you, I will happily enter into it with you." She looked up and met his eyes, and he opened his mouth to speak, but she held up her index finger.

"Finally, of course, we come to your children. How they would feel about you marrying another woman, moving her into the home you share, et cetera. Obviously, you have considered their feelings, so perhaps you can tell me how you will be approaching that hurdle."

He smiled a little, widening his eyes. "Will I be graded on my response?"

She rolled her eyes, replying dryly, "Do you even need to ask?"

"Nope," he said, and opened his arms; she folded her paper, stuffing it under the couch cushion, then swivelled her legs under her and burrowed into his side, wrapping her arm around his waist. He rubbed his hand over her back, taking a second to choose his words.

"It's a delicate subject, and I'll broach it delicately. They know that I love you, that you're a part of our family. They… care about you, very much, and love spending time with you. We don't have to rush into anything. If they need more time to adjust… or if _you_ do… the time is there. I just, um… needed to know if it was on the table."

"Well, thank you for being brave enough to ask," she murmured, and he snorted.

"I'm glad you have some idea of how terrifying you are."

"Yes," she said. "Grr."

He laughed again, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Do you wanna come upstairs to sleep?"

She groaned. "Do you have a teleportation device?"

"Hmm." He pretended to think about it. "Nope. Guess I'll just leave you here on the couch then." He shifted slightly and she clamped down on his waist.

"Don't you dare. Can I just have a quick nap?"

"Well, I did tell Jed we would be home after dinner, and as much as I love using him as an unpaid babysitter…"

She groaned again, louder, and then pushed off his chest, pausing for a long, drawn-out kiss. She smiled against his lips, then laughed.

"What?"

She squinted at him, wrinkling her nose with her grin, and said, "I guess we're getting married?"

He grinned, too, uncontrollable, his cheeks stretching beyond comfort. "Guess so. Does that face mean you're happy about it?"

"I said I was."

"Yeah, that might have been blunted by the many repetitions of it being important to _me_."

She leaned in close to his face, still squinting, and brushed their noses together before sitting back again and saying, "I didn't know what to expect, to be honest. But wow, yeah." The corners of her mouth crept up again. "Yeah, I'm happy about it."

He tugged on her waist, pulling her in to kiss her again, even though he still couldn't stop smiling.

When they made it back upstairs, Chandler said goodnight to the kids and then left Rachel reading to both of them—a chapter from Harry Potter, which was a new bedtime routine.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Chandler reached for his phone and typed out a text.

 **Chandler:** _We're getting married._

 **Tex:** _Oh, fuck you._

 **Tex:** _Serious?_

 **Chandler:** _Dead serious. Sorry man._

 **Tex:** _I'm happy for you, but I also hope you choke to death._

 **Tex:** _Am I best man at least?_

 **Chandler:** _I would be honoured. Also, it's not official yet, so keep mum._

 **Tex:** _You got it. Congrats man. You deserve each other._

In the morning, Rachel kissed him and snuck back downstairs before the kids woke up, and he was in the kitchen mixing the batter for pancakes when they eventually did.

"Where's Rachel?" Sammy asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Yeah," Ashley said, "where'd she go?"

"Well," Chandler said, bringing glasses of juice over to the table, "I had something to talk to you guys about, so she went down to her apartment for a bit."

"That's weird," Ashley said bluntly, and as an afterthought, "Is it about her Christmas present?"

"Sort of. Come on, sit down." They did, watching him expectantly, and he took a deep breath. "You know I miss and love your mom a lot, and I always will. I loved every minute of my life with her, and with you two, and you will always be the most important people in my life. You know all that, right?"

"Of course," Ashley said slowly, like she was starting to see where this was going, while Sammy just nodded.

"I want to make sure you guys are happy and comfortable with whatever happens next. I know you've been through a lot of changes, and we've been living here less than a year, so I want you to be involved in any other big changes. This would be a big one… See, for Rachel's Christmas present, I'd like to ask her to marry me."

They blinked at him, faces blank, and he let it sink in for a second before going on. "It wouldn't change anything right away. Things would be exactly the same, I'd just give her a ring and we'd know that we were going to get married at some point. It could be in a few months, or in more than a year. But firstly, I wanted to know if you guys would be okay with me asking her."

"You'd stop wearing that," Ashley said, and pointed to his wedding ring.

He had kind of forgotten he'd been wearing it. It'd been a part of him for so long, and Rachel hadn't mentioned it. Would she have told him if it bothered her? Maybe not. God, he hoped it hadn't bothered her.

"Yeah," he said to Ashley, "I would have to stop wearing this." He rubbed his thumb over the smooth metal, then slid the ring up and over his knuckle, the callouses formed around it rough against his fingertip. He turned it around a few times, feeling the edges and peering at the inscription, then looked back up at Ashley. "I know you didn't get to keep your mom's ring. Would you like to hold onto this for me?"

She nodded silently, her eyes wide, and he looked over to Sam.

"Is that okay with you, Sammy?"

He nodded too, so Chandler handed the ring over and Ashley held it in her palm, staring down at it.

"Rachel doesn't mind when I cry about Mom," she said softly, even as a tear dropped lightly down from her eye onto the ring. She rubbed the back of her other hand over her eyes and sniffled once.

"That's right. She'll never mind that."

"Would she be around all the time then?" Sammy piped up, and Chandler turned his attention.

"If we got married, she would move in here and sleep in my bedroom, so she'd be around as much as I am."

"And she could read us Harry Potter _every_ night?"

"As long as we were home, yep, she sure could."

"That might be okay," Sam said, looking to his sister.

"All the time means all the time, dummy, not just bedtime."

"Yeah," Sam shot back before Tom could get on Ashley's case for name-calling, "all the time means breakfast and dinner and bedtime and weekends and if you got sick or had a bad day she would probably make you tea and read you an _extra_ chapter of Harry Potter. So there."

Ashley rolled her eyes, looking down at the table, and Chandler watched her.

"What are you thinking, Ash?"

Tilting her head to the side, she pulled her lips in between her teeth and worried at them for a second. When she spoke again, her voice wavered on the edge of tears. "I don't... I don't want Mom to think we don't love her anymore."

"Ashley…" Chandler sighed, hanging his head, then held his arm out to her. "Come here." She got up and rounded the table, and he opened his other arm up for Sam. Wrapping his arms around the both of them, he sighed again and said, "Do you think your mom would hate me for marrying Rachel?"

"No," she said immediately, her cheek resting on his shoulder. "She would want you to be happy."

"Then why would it be different for you?"

"I just don't want to forget her," she whimpered, starting to cry.

"Oh, honey." He held onto her as Sam squirmed away, pulling her onto his lap as Sam leaned his elbow on the table and watched them. "I wish I could promise you that you won't. I wish I could save all those memories for you. But you know, we have to keep moving forward. It's all we can do."

She sniffled, wiping her face on her sleeve and getting back on her feet. "I know." She gave him a look. "That's why you have to marry Rachel."

"I _have_ to?" He smiled a little and she nodded.

"You _have_ to. You know you do."

"Okay!" He stood up, walking back over to the stove to make the pancakes. "I'll marry her, then! Sheesh." He pointed his spatula at both of them. "Now, which one of you wants to call her and tell her to come upstairs for breakfast? My phone's on the nightstand."

They both ran for it, and he heard them wrestle briefly before agreeing to put it on speaker.

"Hello?"

"Rachel!" they yelled, almost in unison.

"Dad's making pancakes," Ashley said.

"And you're getting married!" Sam yelled immediately after.

"Am I?" he heard Rachel say, and heard her smile in her voice.

"No, you and Dad, sillyhead. Come upstairs."

"I'm on my way." A loud click as the door shut behind her, then a softer series of clicks as she locked it.

"Be there in half a tick."

They hung up and ran back into the kitchen, where Chandler served them up the first pancakes, hot off the griddle. A second later, Rachel was letting herself into the apartment, calling out a hello and walking through to the kitchen. She greeted the kids and then turned to Tom, her nervous smile morphing into a terrified grimace.

Putting her hand on his shoulder, she leaned up to kiss his cheek and said quietly, "So?"

At a normal volume and gesturing with his spatula, Tom said, "Well, Sam wants to know if you can read Harry Potter _every_ night, and Ashley says I _have_ to marry you, so I think it's positive overall."

Blowing out a relieved breath, Rachel rolled her eyes at him, then turned back to the kids and joined them at the table. Before sitting down, she ruffled Sam's hair and leaned across to plant a kiss on top of Ashley's head, then asked, "How are the pancakes?"


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** _Shoutout to the people who are still reading and reviewing every chapter eight chapters in! You guys ROCK. Second shoutout to my cat who actually left my lap for five minutes so I could post this._ _Lyrics from Better Place by Rachel Platten._

* * *

 _Now I'm all right… everything's all right…  
'cause it feels like I've opened my eyes again,  
and the colours are golden and bright again.  
There's a song in my heart, I feel like I belong.  
It's a better place since you came along._

It only took one school day for Tom to realize he forgot to mention one tiny significant detail to the kids. The first he heard of it was when Tex called him that night and just laughed into the phone for five full minutes.

"Seriously, I'm going to hang up."

"Oh man. Man oh man. I'm cryin' a little, I gotta tell you. This is too good."

" _What_ , Tex?"

"You know that little secret you let me in on? Mum's the word, or what have you? Man. Even I couldn't have screwed up a secret that fast. What is your trick?"

Chandler was silent. Jed was the only other adult who knew, and he certainly wasn't spreading it around. But the kids…

"Yeah, Kathleen doesn't even have classes with your tykes, but somehow she's comin' home with this story for me, how this story is all over the school, every single kid is talking about it. 'Cause Doctor Rachel's getting married, isn't that exciting? But this Chandler kid won't stop bragging, 'cause apparently it's _his_ dad's gonna marry her, and she's gonna move in with them and read Harry Potter to them in her British accent, so it's about a hundred times more realistic than when anyone _else's_ parents read it to them, and you know what Kathleen says to me?"

Chandler didn't reply, and Tex waited patiently until he said, "What?"

"She says, that kid's gonna get his ass whooped if he keeps on braggin' like that."

"Oh yeah, in those words?"

"Bite your tongue, my girl don't cuss. I'm paraphrasin'."

"Right. Well, thanks for the heads up. Asshole."

The call had come just after dinner, and Tom had taken it in the bedroom while Rachel and the kids read in the living room. When Tom came back out, Rachel was curled up in the middle of the couch, one arm around Sam and the other holding her book, with Ashley propped up against the other arm of the couch. Considering 'primetime TV' wasn't really a thing anymore, they'd been spending more nights like this, reading together in companionable silence. All it was missing was the oil lamps.

Chandler grabbed a chair, pulling it up to face the couch and sitting down. "Kids, we need to have a chat."

Rachel was the only one who actually looked curious; Sam and Ashley traded a look that said they knew exactly what this was about.

"That was Tex on the phone. He's got Kathleen telling stories over there, saying the whole school is talking about it."

"I _told_ him not to," Ashley said defensively.

"Shut up, Ashley."

"Sam, that's unacceptable language. Say sorry."

"Sorry Ash, but she shouldn't tattle."

"I'm not here to discuss the ethics of tattling. If you'd just listen for a second, you're not even in trouble, unless you keep talking."

Sam buttoned his lip and sat back, folding his arms over his chest, and Ashley assumed much the same posture, while Rachel sat bemused in the centre with her hands in her lap.

"Sam, why don't you tell Rachel what you did, in your own words?"

Instantly Sam's face turned bright red, and he lowered his head as he fidgeted his hands in his lap. "Well, everybody _loves_ Doctor Rachel, even people who have never met her, and I just wanted everyone to know that she was gonna marry _my_ dad and live in _my_ house because…" He trailed off, and then mumbled, "Because that makes me special." He wiped at his eyes and the tip of his nose. "I didn't know _everyone_ was going to start talking about it, but even if they do what's the big deal, I didn't know it was a secret."

He kept wiping at his face as his eyes watered tears, and Rachel wrapped her arm back around him, tugging him into her side and smoothing a hand over his hair. She made eye contact with Chandler and said, "Well, it was intended to be kept a bit quiet, but we must have neglected to mention that to you kids. It's not your fault, you didn't know."

"Right, Sammy, it's our bad, but we do want to keep it private from now on. If kids ask you for more details, just tell them the grown-ups won't tell you anything else."

"If it helps," Rachel adds, smirking, "make sure to mention what a harda—I mean, what a stickler your dad is and how annoying he can be about these things."

Chandler rolled his eyes at her, and she smiled, and Sammy sniffled and said in a small voice, "But you're still getting married, right?"

"Of course," Rachel said soothingly, stroking his hair again and turning to her other side to check on Ashley, touch her cheek and tip her chin. "We're family, that won't be changing." Ashley finally unfolded her arms, hugging Rachel on her other side, and Chandler watched the whole scene with a heart three sizes too big for his chest.

They sent the kids off to bed, armed with ignorance, and then had to decide how to deal with grown-ups asking grown-up questions. Rachel sat cross-legged in the middle of the master bed, Chandler sitting on the edge taking off his shoes, and she asked, "How many of our coworkers have kids at that school?"

"Um," Chandler said, reaching out to drop his shoes by the door and then turning to look at her. "All of them?"

"So the odds of them hearing about this…"

"Pretty good, yeah. I'm picturing the Scarlet Letter in terms of rumour-spreading." He dropped back onto the bed with a sigh, and Rachel uncrossed her legs, laying down on her belly and propping herself up on her elbows next to his head. With her closer hand, she ran her fingers through his hair and he turned to look at her, tipping his chin up for a kiss. Leaning forward on her elbow, she curled her hand around his jaw and kissed him, their lips and tongues meeting just as comfortably upside-down as they closed their eyes and savoured the moment.

Rachel rolled onto her side, resting her cheek on the bedspread as she trailed her hand along his neck, and he faced her with a serious look.

"I'm afraid you'll get the brunt of this," he said.

"Hmm?"

"No one's gonna ask me what flowers I bought or how I proposed or how perfect the ring is. Or for that matter, _where_ the ring is."

She smiled, rolling onto her back while her hand continued to stroke the stubble on his jaw. "Well, we stick as close to the truth as possible. You proposed at home, because we are both such intensely private people, it never would have made sense to have some grand public production. I don't know anything about flowers; say you brought me a bundle of my favourite tea herbs. Oh, yes, that's romantic. As for the ring, I think you know me well enough to know I'd prefer to pick it out together. In the meantime…"

Chandler smiled, getting into the improvisory spirit, and said, "I'm sure Ashley could spare some embroidery thread—perhaps even braid it for you?"

Still facing the ceiling, Rachel closed her eyes, smiling, and when she opened them again her eyelashes were damp. "Yes. That sounds perfect."

In the morning, as the four of them had tea and coffee and cereal and toast around the kitchen table, Rachel asked Ashley if she could make a little braid for her—"just three strands, maybe one for each of you, so that I can wear it on my ring finger until I have a proper ring." Ashley bounced up from the table immediately, running to her room and returning with embroidery floss and a small pair of scissors.

"Navy blue, for dad, red for Sammy, and purple for me. I don't know if the colours go together…"

"It's good," Rachel said. "They're all deep colours, they work really well." She held the ends of the threads as Ashley braided them together, and then Ashley wrapped it around her ring finger and tied the neatest knot she could, trimming the ends. As long as she kept the knot facing in, it did look quite nice, and Chandler had to kiss everything—the ring, and Rachel, and Ashley's hair, and the top of Sammy's head as well, and then Rachel once more.

"We'll go to the jeweller's after work today, okay?"

Rachel was holding her hand out in front of her, admiring the ring as if it was a brand new diamond, and she said, "Sure, but I'm keeping this one, too. I love it."

Ashley, blushing, muttered, "I can make you a proper bracelet. If you would like one."

"I would love one." She turned to Sammy. "And no pressure, but if you wanted to draw something for me—"

"You'd put it in your office?" he asked excitedly.

"I certainly would."

They had to get moving, so Chandler couldn't bask in the beauty of his weird blended family for long, but he spent the whole day thinking about it and grinning. Every time someone humbly congratulated him on his engagement, his grin grew to a size most of his colleagues had probably never seen on his face before. He kept it professional, responding with a nod and a thank you, occasionally a handshake, but that damn grin never left his face.

By the end of the day, anyone who hadn't heard it from the mouths of babes had gotten the picture via overheard conversations and the look on his face. No hiding it now.

When he pulled up outside Rachel's building, she practically dove into the passenger seat, grabbing his face and kissing him hard. It was all he could do to keep his foot on the brake, kissing her back with one hand on the wheel and the other on the gearshift.

She dropped back into her seat, returning his grin with her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright. "I don't think I got any work done today."

He moved his foot to the gas, pulling out of the pick-up area, and said, "How'd our stories go over?"

"Actually," she said, holding onto the door handle and staring out the window, "I feel rather badly for setting up impossible standards, considering I was technically lying. Then again," she looked back over her shoulder, eyes still shining, "you _are_ the perfect man, so that much was the truth."

He snorted so hard he almost choked. "You're an idiot."

Pulling her knees back under her, she leaned into his side, one hand on his forearm and the other snaking around behind his neck as she brushed her nose against his ear, nipping at his earlobe. "I'm serious. I love you."

"I love you too, but trust me, I'm the lucky one in this relationship."

"Yeah," she scoffed, sitting down again, "tell that to the women in my office. If they thought they could get away with locking me in the supply closet and taking you for themselves, they would. I honestly think it's lucky I'm _the_ Doctor Rachel or I might be in real trouble."

"So… what I'm hearing is… we need to get the biggest rock in the store on your finger."

She smacked his arm. "Are you trying to get me killed?"

He grinned, eyes on the road and hands on the wheel. "But you're _the_ Doctor Rachel, so might as well, right?"

"You're the idiot."

"I mean, yeah." He turned off the main drag, pulling into a spot behind one of the few remaining jewellery stores in the city. The owner had agreed to open it up for them, since there wasn't much business in fine jewels these days but the store still had the highest security. He probably could have given them away in the streets for all the money he'd make off of them, but it's hard to let go of a dream like that.

Chandler held the store's door open for Rachel, and she took a step inside and paused to wait for him, so he could wrap his arm around her waist and walk forward with her. The man waited nervously behind the counter, a few velvet sheets laid out on the glass with a selection of rings.

"Doctor Rachel, it's my pleasure, I have a few choices here for you to consider. If you don't like them, of course, we have many more options."

Rachel dragged her eyes away from the sparkling rings to meet his eyes and hold out her hand. "Just Rachel, please. You are?"

"Oh—Ahmad, miss. This was my father's store."

"And this is Tom, of course," she said, waving vaguely as she turned her attention back to the rings. Chandler watched her, amused, as she tilted her head to see each ring from different angles before finally poking at one, and then picking it up and holding it between her fingertips.

"Gonna try that on?" he asked, and she gave him a look that was half apprehension and half scolding. She considered the ring, then set it back down carefully and poked at a different one.

"Pay attention," she said, and he wanted to say that was paying very close attention, just not to the rings, but instead he dropped his gaze and started mimicking her, tilting his head and seeing the way the light glanced off the cut of the stones.

When he'd called ahead, he'd told the man she would need something relatively simple, something she could wear in the lab and horsing around with kids, something understated because she just wasn't a flashy kind of girl. Maybe something with red, to match the earrings she wore every day—the earrings that were the only thing she had left of her mother, the earrings she had never taken off even on the ship, even off the ship.

He wasn't sure how to help and be unobtrusive at the same time, which resulted in him mostly watching her very closely and then nodding approvingly whenever she anxiously glanced toward him. She gravitated toward one ring composed of white gold, with a ruby at the centre and small diamonds along the band, and she kept trying to move toward something plainer, but he could read her so easily.

Picking up the ring, he examined it in the light, then held his hand out for hers. "Try it on."

"It's too much," she said, even as she laid her left hand in his and watched him slide the ring onto her finger. Despite her protests, the ring was modest, the multiple jewels adding up to just over a carat altogether. It complemented her hand beautifully, and as she held her hands out in front of her, she drew in a breath. That settled it. Ahmad would size it to fit perfectly, as well as picking out matching wedding bands for them.

As they walked back out into the street, Rachel clung to Chandler's arm, practically wrapping her body around it, and he looked down at her, patting one hand over hers. "How're you doing?"

She sniffled, though it could've just been the cold, and her eyes were glistening slightly when she looked up and said, "Feeling a lot of things."

Glancing behind them to make sure he didn't cut anyone off, Chandler nudged her to the side of the pavement and into a slightly recessed doorway, before reaching for her face and kissing her. She pressed up against him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and pushing up on her toes. He dropped his arms to wrap around her back, supporting her as she leaned into him and kissed him hard, and he actually had to lean forward slightly to compensate for the force she was exerting toward him.

When she broke the kiss with a gasp, wrapping her arms even tighter around him, he put a hand out and tipped them back into the door, letting her drop to her heels and catch her breath against his neck as he lowered his head and turned his face into her hair. "Love you," he murmured, and she breathed a laugh against his skin.

"I love you."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** _Lyrics from As It Seems by Lily Kershaw. Rated M._

* * *

 _Well, in this life, you must find something to live for,  
'cause when the darkness comes a-calling,  
you'll go back to where you were before,  
'cause this life is as fragile as a dream,  
and nothing's ever really as it seems._

Life was perfect and Christmas was approaching, so of course something had to go wrong. The day they were going to pick up the rings, the last day Rachel wore her embroidery floss braid instead of a real engagement ring, she climbed into the car at the end of the day sombre.

Clutching at the door handle, she stared through the window at the blank wall of the building, her other hand forming a fist in her lap. He only watched her for a second before pulling away from the curb, turning to the right instead of the left at the last second and carrying on through the lot to the empty spaces on the far side. He parked, unbuckled his seat belt, and turned to face her.

She hadn't moved, still staring through the window, her hand twisting tight circles around the handle. "The president came to see me today," she said eventually. "They've had word of a pocket—" _Pocket: noun, informal. A small group of people isolated enough during the pandemic to avoid both contagion and vaccination, who upon leaving isolation immediately contract the virus._ "—exhibiting unusual symptoms. He wants me to fly out and set up a quarantine lab, just in case we're looking at a mutation."

"Okay…" he said slowly. "I thought you said—"

She released the door handle finally, to press the heel of her hand to her forehead, squeezing her eyes shut. "I don't believe the virus as I knew it was capable of mutating, but there are too many variables and the risk is too great to rest on my laurels. I just thought—" Her hand curled into a fist to match the one in her lap, and she curved forward in her seat, her face contorting.

"Baby, come here," he said, reaching for her, and she crawled over the centre console and into his lap in a tight little fetal ball. He wrapped his arms snugly around her and she pushed her head against his shoulder.

"I just—" she said, her voice small, all the competence bled out of it. "I'm going to miss Christmas." Her breath caught, then shook, and before long he could feel her tears through his shirt. "I just wanted to be here for Christmas."

He kept one arm tight around her shoulders, his other hand moving up to cup the side of her face and smudge tears from her cheek with his thumb, then stroke over her hair. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I know the feeling. I know you have to go. And I know we'll miss you. But you know… I mean, it may be small consolation, but my kids are used to celebrating holidays and birthdays on the wrong days, consolidating and… pretending. It's not perfect, but… it's what we've had to do. Their whole lives."

She eased up a bit as he spoke, one of her hands curling up around his neck as she rested her cheek on his shoulder and snuffled quietly.

"We'll make it work, and they won't… blame you, or anything. We'll celebrate with you when you get back, and they'll get two Christmases, and we'll even be able to video call. It won't be like on the ship, okay?"

"It still sucks, though," she said, her voice thick from crying, and he wrapped his arm tighter, pulling her head close enough to kiss the top of it.

"Yeah, it sucks." He let that sit for a minute, then asked, "Did you tell him…?"

She sighed. "I told him, and he offered to find someone else, but…"

"It wouldn't be you."

"I guess saving the world still comes first."

"Which, by the way, is karma I'm due. Actually, far less than I'm due, but I'll try not to jinx it." Cradling her in his arms, he said, "It will be okay," and she turned, curling in closer to his body. "We do have to pick up those rings, though."

"Five more minutes," she murmured, and he set his head back against the headrest, content to wait with her.

For the few days she had left, while she spent her days at work preparing for the trip, she spent her free time almost entirely in Chandler's apartment. She put Christmas music on the sound system and let Ashley and Sammy help her bake more Christmas cookies than they could ever eat, bringing them to offices and schools instead and eating a few with glasses of milk and _A Christmas Carol_. Then _Miracle on 34_ _th_ _Street_. Followed by _White Christmas_.

She was determined to be all Christmas-ed out by the time she left on the twenty-first, Chandler thought, and she was well on her way. She bought and wrapped presents, placing them under the tree to wait for her return, and Ashley made her a stocking to hang alongside their three on the mantle over the gas fireplace in the living room. The children were loath to leave her side, too, snuggling up beside her on the couch while they did their homework and watched movies.

Chandler was relegated to a chair on the other side of the room, which he didn't mind all that much considering he got to watch them together, and hold her in his arms at night. She'd stopped going home—rather, downstairs—almost altogether, and one night as he lay on his side with his arms around her and his face buried in her hair, he said, "When you get back, we should ditch that apartment of yours."

"Hmm," she said, half a laugh. "Pre-marital cohabitation, really?"

"If you're worried about the example we're setting for my children, I sort of think 'Rachel keeps all her things in a different apartment even though she spends all her time in ours' is more confusing than moral. Also, every time you go downstairs they look at me like wounded animals and say, 'Where's Rachel? Why'd she leave?' Honestly, it's tragic."

"Jesus," she said, on a full laugh this time. "Well, when you put it that way." She rolled to face him, kissing him at the same time as she brought her body flush against his and slipped one of her legs between his, rolling her hip to press against him and muffling his soft yelp in her kiss. "Shh," she tipped her chin back to say, before kissing him again and slipping her hand into his pyjama pants, curling around him and stroking until he was hard.

He turned his face into the pillow, biting down on it to stay silent, and she pushed his pants down his thighs, keeping one hand wrapped around him as she used the other to push at her own pants before moving her hips forward.

"Wait," he said, thinking of a condom, and she tilted her chin up to meet his eye.

"Maybe…" she whispered. "Don't bother?"

He swallowed hard, one hand on her hip to keep her still even as his hips strained to jerk forward, and stared into her eyes.

She blinked a few times, her teeth digging into her lower lip as her hips pushed gently against his hand, and tilted her head, her eyebrows drawing together.

"You know—" he started, and she cut him off.

"Let's talk about it later," she whispered, and kissed him, and he let his hand curve around behind her hips, letting her shift forward and guide him inside her. She exhaled through her nose, kissing him hard, and rocked her hips where she was before nudging him onto his back so she could straddle him, and he squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his jaw to keep his groan trapped in his throat.

When he opened his eyes again he said, "Baby, do you—are you—" and she looked up at him with one corner of her mouth ticked up.

"I'm a doctor," she said, which was a good point. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No," he said immediately, as if he could ever give any other answer. They would have to talk about this, but no, he didn't have any problem with the implication. Not one single problem.

That same smirk on her lips, Rachel reached one hand up to cover his mouth, and he moaned into it, his hips jerking under her. He wasn't sure if she was actually getting sexier, her confidence increasing with time, or if he was just a sucker for her, but as she held eye contact and rode him with her hand pressed firm over his mouth, he had to focus on not actually being louder than ever before.

Even so, he came inside her before she could finish, almost certain it was the first time that had happened, and when she reached down to do it herself he flipped them, saying scoldingly, "Baby," before moving down her body to use his tongue. One of her hands clenched in his hair, and when he looked up he saw she'd pressed the other one to her own mouth, whimpers deep in her throat as she arched up off the bed and into his mouth.

She melted into the bed after she came, and he kissed his way back up her body, her muscles trembling beneath his lips. He knew she'd need a minute before he could kiss her properly, so he pressed his lips to her cheek instead and laid his head down on the pillow beside her, one hand stroking her cheek as she closed her eyes and took steadying breaths.

When she opened her eyes, it was to turn to him for a quick kiss and then get up and walk to the bathroom, where he heard the shower run for a minute or two. Re-emerging wrapped in a towel, she dressed in clean pyjamas and climbed back into the bed beside him, sliding forward to bring her body flush against his and kiss him deeply, her arm winding around behind his back. Her hand smoothed over the muscles there, her tongue doing lascivious things to his mouth, and he had to put some distance between them before he got too distracted to talk.

His hand on her waist, his thumb rubbing small circles over the material of her t-shirt, he met her eyes and she set her hands on his shoulders as he said, "So…"

Her eyes moved to her left, her hand lifting as she looked at her ring, and she said, "Why did you decide to ask now?"

"Life is short," he said immediately. "I couldn't wait."

She lifted one shoulder, like, _Yeah. That_ , and met his eyes again. "I don't want to wait. If—you—"

"I'm with you," he said, slipping his hand around to the small of her back and tugging her just a tiny bit closer. "If you're ready, I'm ready."

Her lips turned up almost involuntarily, her eyes open and soft as she looked at him, and he tugged on her again, bringing their foreheads together.

"You know I love you very much," he said quietly.

"I might've guessed," she murmured back, letting her hand curl around the back of his neck as she closed her eyes, and he curved his arm up the length of her back, relaxing into sleep.

They gathered for a last family dinner, and then Chandler took the morning off work to drive her to the airport. He pulled through the gates and parked his SUV on the runway, staring down the plane sitting with its cargo bay open as people loaded cases and supplies.

He looked over at Rachel to find her profile set in stone and her hands curled into fists in her lap. Reaching over, he wrapped his hand around one of her fists before sliding his fingers into her palm and under her clenched fingers, pushing them out and lacing his fingers through hers. She looked down, watching it, then layered her other hand over his and looked up at him.

"You'll be back soon," he said, "and then we should get married."

She smiled, pursing her lips against it and squinting at him. "Okay," she said. "Sounds good."

They climbed out of the car and Chandler opened the back door to take out her suitcase, setting it on the ground and extending the handle. He met her in front and lined the suitcase up at her side before holding out his arms and drawing her into his chest. She wrapped her arms tight around his waist, pressing her cheek against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her back.

She didn't let the hug last long, mindful of potential eyes, and pulled back enough to brace her hands on his shoulders and lean up to kiss him—one, two, three—and then she turned and walked away, suitcase in hand. She didn't look back, but he crossed his arms over his chest and watched as she handed her bag off and climbed the stairs into the plane. Then he got back into the car—global warming and all, but St. Louis is still thirty degrees in December—and sat there until the plane had taxied and taken off, until it wasn't even a speck in the sky.

Then he sighed, turned the car around, and went to work.

Three hours later, he got a text: _Landed. Straight into quarantine. Xx_

Closer to twelve than eleven, his phone rang.

"Hey. Is it too late?"

He was sitting up in bed reading, his spine against the wooden headboard to keep him awake, and he took off his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes, saying, "Never for you. How're you doing?"

"Mm. Six patients, examined and blood drawn. I'll study the samples tomorrow."

He could hear the exhaustion in her voice. "I asked how you were doing."

"Yeah. I just wanted to hear your voice." Some rustling, hopefully her lying down in bed at least. "Tell me something."

"Okay." He thought for a second. "Tex has a date."

She laughed, all breath.

"Yeah, it gets better. She teaches at the school."

"Wow."

"I've met her. She seems sweet. I'm just a little… You know, she's only seen him around Kathleen, in public. Nice Tex. I don't… Well, maybe she'll tame him."

"Tex can be nice." Her voice was slowing, softening.

"Okay," he said gently, "subject change. I don't want you dreaming about Tex."

She laughed again, the phone barely picking it up. "Okay," she said, slightly dreamy. "I'm picturing you."

"Yeah? What am I doing?"

"Mmm…" Her hum dragged out and trailed off, a pause long enough he wondered if she'd fallen asleep, and then she murmured, "Taking your clothes off."

He snorted, trying not to startle her awake with the sound but unable to stifle it entirely. "Okay, go to sleep, baby."

"Go to sleep," she slurred back, "baby. Love you."

"Love you. Good night."

Silence. He dropped his phone onto the bedside table and shut off the lamp, sliding down in bed and breathing deep into the knot that had formed in his gut. She would be fine, everything would be fine—but he was used to her going away and bad things happening, bad things when she went away from him. She would be fine. Everything would be fine.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** _Lyrics from Wonderful by Lianne La Havas. Rated M._

* * *

 _From here, there's nothing but horizon.  
Near dawn, I'm searching for the sunrise.  
Remember when you put the stars into my eyes?  
Oh, wasn't it kind of wonderful?_

Even though the time without her dragged, the days before Christmas flashed by as he shopped and wrapped and got all his work squared away for the holiday. Most of his office was given the week between Christmas and New Year's off, and though he was glad to have the time to spend with his family, he hated that Rachel wouldn't get to be a part of it. She called every night, always sounding tired, never saying much of anything, but still it was good to hear from her.

On Christmas morning, Chandler brought his laptop out to the living room and set up a Skype call. The kids were bouncing around, striking poses in their matching PJs, a little too wound up to sit still, but Rachel laughed and grinned and asked them questions about their presents. She was hunched over her laptop, sitting on a small bed in a windowless room, and her smile even from the start was straining around the edges.

After the kids had held up their favourite presents and yelled their Merry Christmases, Chandler picked up the laptop and said, "I'm going to go into my room for a minute. Be good." He closed the bedroom door behind him, then went into the bathroom and closed that door too, before setting the laptop on the counter and leaning down to look at her.

Her smile was gone, her shoulders sagging, and her whole face had fallen as she waited for him to be on camera again.

"How are you doing, sweetheart?"

She looked at him, her face blank, and then rubbed her hands up over her face, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. "I don't want to complain," she said, her voice tightly controlled, though it wavered halfway through the last word.

"What if I complain for you?"

Dropping her hands into her lap, she rested her elbows on her knees, the slightest ghost of a smile appearing as she tipped her chin in a _go ahead_ motion.

He looked around, deciding to sit down on the closed toilet lid and turning the laptop to face him, and started in a calm tone, "Well, it really sucks that you're missing Christmas. You're out there working and saving the world while we get to sit around all day and open presents. It sucks that you have to be away from your family on this day, even if it _is_ a commercial holiday hyped up to sell material goods. It sucks that you're stuck in that little room, which is not even a little bit festive or nice or anything but completely depressing. That definitely sucks. Sleeping alone sucks. The food they're serving you probably sucks. Being around sick people sucks, even if you are a doctor. Being somewhere you don't want to be, especially on Christmas, sucks. A lot. It all sucks and it's terrible."

She was smiling, a real smile with her eyes crinkled up, and he loved her so much it was a physical pain in his chest.

"How was that?" he asked.

"Pretty good," she said softly, leaning a bit closer to the laptop. "I think there's a few more things that suck, but you got most of them."

He smiled back, his chest still aching, wishing he could reach through the screen and just touch her face, just hold her for one second. "You gotta go?"

She looked down at her watch. "Yeah. Five more minutes?"

He nodded—as if he would ever say anything but yes—and she propped her cheek on one hand, watching him with her head tilted. They sat there in silence, just looking at one another, and then she looked down at her watch again and sighed.

"Merry Christmas, love," he said, and she brought her palm up to her lips, blowing him a kiss.

"Merry Christmas, Tom."

He left his laptop on the bed and walked out into the living room, and the kids looked at him with those wide-open, puppy dog eyes.

"Is Rachel okay?"

He put on a reassuring smile and held his arms out to them, rubbing their backs when they came up and hugged his waist. "She's okay. She wants to be here, and she misses you two a lot."

"We miss her too," Sam said, pouting, and Ashley drooped a little. They threw themselves back on the couch, their earlier boisterousness deflated, and Chandler went to the TV to put a Christmas movie on. He moved the tray of potatoes from the fridge to the oven—they'd traded roles with Tex and Kathleen for this one, and would be heading over to their apartment in a few hours—before joining them on the couch.

The rest of the day was mellow, and after dinner he gathered everyone in front of Tex's Christmas tree, using Ashley's selfie stick to take a picture of the whole group of them. He texted it to Rachel with the caption, _See you soon xx_.

Chandler spent his week off mostly helping the kids with their end-of-term projects and dying of boredom. His goal for every day was to have one thing to tell Rachel at the end of it, but sometimes that ended up being _Today Ashley wanted to make dinner and set three chicken breasts on fire_ , which at least made her laugh.

On New Year's Eve, Chandler begged off from attending the fireworks downtown, letting Tex and Jed take the kids while he stayed home and watched the coverage on the one local news channel that actually aired on TV. He just wasn't in the mood for struggling through festive and rowdy crowds full of the holiday spirit and alcohol. Not that he was being a Grinch because Rachel wasn't around… Okay, maybe he was, a little bit. Or a lot bit. He didn't want to have to fake it, so he stayed home by himself like the grump he was.

Everybody else left at five, and Chandler put some music on the sound system and made himself a simple dinner of spaghetti and meat sauce. He had just sat down to eat when a knock came at the door, and thinking one of the kids must have forgotten something, he got up and swung the door open automatically, starting to say, "Hey, what—"

Rachel smiled, holding up one hand in a little wave, and before she could even say, _Surprise!_ , Chandler was stepping forward and enveloping her in his arms. He just stood there for a minute, feeling her solid form against his chest and trying to convince himself he wasn't dreaming, and then he stepped back, his hands moving from her upper arms to her face as he held it and stared at her, his fingers tracing the outline of her face as she stared back at him.

"God," he whispered, his fingers splaying on either side of her neck as he dipped his head to kiss her, his thumbs skimming the line of her jaw, back and forth. Her hands found the side of his waist, her fingers curling in the material of his shirt as she let him kiss her, stayed on her heels and tipped up her head and let him drink her in, slow as he pleased.

His fingers slid through her hair, around to cradle the back of her head, and he kissed her like she was the most precious thing. She was.

When he finally let her go, he stepped back and took one of her hands in his, picking up her suitcase with the other and drawing her into the apartment, saying, "Sorry, you must be tired." She clung to his arm, let him lead her, and he said, "Hungry?"

"Yes, actually," she said, but stopped him in the doorway to the kitchen to kiss him again, both hands wrapped around his forearm as she tugged lightly on him, kissing him until the hunger in her belly overpowered the one in her chest. She blinked slowly up at him, exhaled, and said, "I love you."

He brought a hand up to cradle her jaw, kissed her one more time, and said, "I love you too," before leading her to the table and sitting her down in front of his own plate. "Let me know if that's cold," he said, moving back to the stove to start a new pot boiling, and she dug in.

"It's perfect," she said, mouth full, and scraped her chair to the side so she could watch him while she ate. "You were not wrong about the food there."

Standing at the stove, he gestured with the spaghetti tongs. "And how many meals did you work through?"

She looked down at her plate, lifting one shoulder in a shrug and twirling her fork in the spaghetti before filling her mouth again. "I'll make up for it," she mumbled, and he shook his head at her.

"Yes, you will."

She was halfway through the massive plate he'd made for himself by the time he sat down with a new one, and then she slowed down and mostly watched him eat, nibbling occasionally.

"Any news?" he said.

"Well, it's not a mutation," she said immediately, and then dropped her head, her eyes closing and the hand holding her fork falling limp on the table. "The world is safe, let us never mention it again."

"Okay," Chandler said, grinning at her dramatic performance. "Well, the kids went downtown for the fireworks. Not sure if you want to—"

She looked back up at him, raising her eyebrows. "You think I showed up here by accident?"

He stared at her for a second, then shook his head again. "You sneak. Tex?"

She pressed her lips together, but couldn't hide the way her eyes crinkled up at the corners.

"I've gotta learn to stop trusting that guy."

"He makes a good wingman," she said, a little smug, and then reassuringly, "He always has your best interests at heart. Usually that involves getting us in the same room, so really, what are you complaining about?"

Chandler snorted, and grinned. "I'm not complaining."

She pointed her fork at him and said, "That's right," and he wasn't sure how he was going to manage to eat his dinner when he couldn't stop smiling and she kept watching him with those soft eyes. If she hadn't just come back from ten days away he might ask her to go watch TV or something and leave him in peace, but as it was, well. He just had to focus. Eat like a machine, like he had to do when he was on high alert but still needed sustenance. Focus. Stare down at his food and shovel bite after bite into his mouth, until he'd finally consumed a meal's worth and could look up again, rewarded by the glow of her smile.

He carried their dishes to the sink and then took her hand and brought her into the living room, sitting down on the couch and tugging her onto his lap. He unmuted the TV, where some band he'd never heard of was performing on a stage, and then muted it again, content instead to wrap his arms around her waist and press his face into her hair. She wrapped one arm around his neck, her other hand rubbing up and down his opposite arm, and they both relaxed into the embrace, comfortable.

After a little while, he said, "The kids are gonna be too excited to sleep when they see you." He peeked at her face through the screen of her hair, a pleased smile curving up her lips.

"It's vacation," she said quietly. "Maybe we can have a camp-out in the living room."

"Do you realize you just suggested spending your first night home sleeping on the floor?" Her smile grew, her arm tightening slightly on his neck, and he said, "You're serious, aren't you?"

"I missed them too, you know. It isn't all about you."

He closed his eyes again, holding her close and breathing her in, and said, "You are going to make such a good mom."

At that, she twisted her upper body, wrapping both arms around his shoulders and burying her face in his neck. She clung to him in silence, her exhales soft bursts of air against his skin, and when she looked up again her eyes were bright. "Let's get to it, then," she said, and a half laugh turned to a moan when she shifted one of her legs over to the other side of him, settling herself firmly in his lap.

She held his face in her hands and kissed him, her tongue diving into his mouth as she ground down on his crotch, wasting no time, and he was rapidly hardening under her, kissing her back and smoothing his hands down over her ass, curving under her thighs and stymied by her pants. He reached for her waistband instead, their mouths sliding sloppy together as they rushed forward, and he unbuttoned and unzipped her pants, sliding them down just enough for him to begin stroking her, and she moaned into his mouth as she worked his own pants open. She drew him out, her fist running up his length, and barely paused before guiding him inside of her. He closed his eyes, panting lightly against her lips, and pushed off from the couch with one hand, the other one holding her tight against him, so he could shove his jeans down and tug the blanket off the back of the couch, falling back down onto it.

He stayed collapsed there for a moment, Rachel's hands cupping the back of his head, and then she rocked her hips, a slow tilt forward and back, and he groaned. Straightening out his spine, he propped his head on the back of the couch and Rachel braced her hands on either side, her knees pressing into the couch cushion as Chandler wrapped his hands around her waist and she rocked again.

He dropped his chin and she leaned up to kiss him, pushing up on her knees and then easing back down, the kiss slow now but still sloppy as they came together and apart with a lazy rhythm.

When they were finished, Rachel rolled off to the side, her back up against Chandler's chest as she wrapped the blanket (and his arm) around her waist. She laid her head down and sighed and said, "Do you think the kids'll mind if I pass out five minutes after they get here?"

Glancing around for the remote, he pointed it at the TV and unmuted again. It was 11:37pm and there was another band he'd never heard of performing. "If you actually sleep in the living room, I don't think they'll even notice."

 _Actually_ , she was already asleep, and missed the countdown altogether. He smiled and shook his head and turned the volume almost all the way down, watching the fireworks and thanking god for blankets that would preserve their modesty without him having to wake her up.

A little while after midnight, his phone buzzed with a text from Tex: _Y'all decent? We're coming up._ The front door opened, and he heard the rumble of Tex's voice before Sam and Ashley barrelled headlong into the room, ready to yell and pounce on Rachel but halting when they saw her asleep. Tom smiled at them, waving his other hand, and they waved back, grinning.

"She wanted to stay up and see you guys," he said very quietly, "but she had a long day. Can you put yourselves to bed?"

They nodded, and he waved them over for one-armed goodnight hugs, then they headed off down the hall and Tex walked through from the front. He made a face when he saw them, as usual, then walked over to give Tom a lighter-than-usual slap on the arm.

"Glad she made it back okay," he murmured. "See y'all tomorrow."

"Thanks man. Can you get the lights?" He would have to carry her to bed at some point, but the darker and quieter the apartment was when he did, the less likely she was to fully wake up, so he let Tex leave and turned off the TV and waited for the kids to settle down, just laying his head back on the cushion and feeling his arm rise and fall with her slow breaths.

He sat up gingerly, turning his body toward her so that he didn't have to move the arm already wrapped around her, just readjust her and use his other arm to scoop up her legs. She melted into his arms, sleepy murmurs as she shifted her head on his shoulder, but didn't almost wake up until he gently set her down on the bed and started to move away to the bathroom.

"Baby?" she mumbled, and he sat down beside her, bringing the comforter up to her shoulder and running his fingers through her hair.

"Go back to sleep, sweetheart."

"We sleep?"

"Yeah, baby, go to sleep. I'll be there in a minute."

She didn't quite open her eyes, but butted her head lightly at his hand, so he brushed his palm over the curve of her skull and she sighed, relaxing back into sleep. He pressed his lips to her forehead, then went to wash up and change, and when he came back to the bed she'd rolled over, asleep in the centre of the bed, and he climbed in and lay beside her, running his gaze over her face instead of touching it, not wanting to wake her up again.

He was sure they'd wake up entangled, but for now, despite how much he missed her and wanted to be in physical contact, he left her peaceful and drank in that peace, knowing she was finally where she wanted to be, knowing that one more painful absence was behind them and they were together.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** _I have completely run out of steam for posting chapters, which is why I finish series before I start posting them, so here have the rest of the story all at once! Take your time, enjoy (hopefully), and thanks again for supporting me through!_ _Lyrics from Stars by Alessia Cara._

* * *

 _Rap on my window, come home.  
It's been a while, so stick around, why don't you?  
'Til the end of time, say that you'll be mine,  
an uphill climb fighting what the heart really wants to do.  
See, I need you, and sometimes we need to  
shed our façade and be just who we are._

He woke in the morning to a bit of a ruckus, unsurprised to find Rachel in his arms, her back to his chest and his arm around her waist. She raised a hand to her mouth, delicately covering a massive, graceless yawn, and then turned in his arms to face him.

Looking at him with a fond, sleepy gaze, she laid a hand on his cheek and said, "What happened to the sleepover?"

"You were out like a light," he said, amused. "The kids will live."

A thump sounded from outside the room, followed by the muffled voices of children, and they both looked to the door just before the rap of small knuckles barely rattled the wood.

"Come in," Chandler called, and the knob turned, Sam pushing the door all the way open and standing to the side so that Ashley could walk into the room carrying a tray.

"We made breakfast!" Sam said, following Ashley to the bed and climbing onto the end while Ashley walked around to the side and waited for Chandler and Rachel to sit up so she could hand them the tray. Rachel set the tray on her lap and then Ashley joined Sam on the bed, both of them watching eagerly to see the reactions to their offering.

On the tray were two mugs, one with coffee and the other with tea, though both had spilled a little. A dinner plate held four slices of toast, two with peanut butter and the other two with jam, and there was a large soup bowl holding several clementines.

"Wow," Rachel said. "This looks delicious." She smiled warmly at both children and they grinned back, bouncing slightly on the bed.

"We left your presents under the tree," Ashley said. "Do you want to open them after breakfast?"

"We missed you so much!" Sam jumped in to add.

Rachel picked up one of the pieces of toast and took a bite, looking to Chandler and raising her eyebrows.

He grinned. "Yeah, of course. You know there's a couple more presents for you guys there as well."

Ashley tipped her head to the side and rolled her eyes. "No, Dad, we didn't notice them sitting there for a week."

"Miss teenage sarcasm, over here."

"I'm twelve."

"Obviously the sickness has developed early."

Rachel, munching on her toast, stayed out of it and made faces at Sam, before interrupting to say, "You kids want any toast?" They both crawled closer, sitting cross-legged on the other side of the tray, and all four of them ate in silence for a few minutes. Rachel made a show of sipping her tea and declaring it perfectly brewed, which was such a dirty lie so immaculately delivered that Chandler had to hide his smile behind his own mug.

The kids started bouncing again as soon as they'd finished their toast, and Chandler told them to go out in the living room and get the presents from under the tree. Rachel finished her tea and set it back on the tray, and Chandler reached for the tray while leaning in for a good morning kiss, then headed into the kitchen while Rachel joined the kids in the living room.

When he walked back out, they were all three seated on the floor, the kids oblivious to their own presents as they anxiously watched Rachel. She waited for Chandler, who sat down in the arm chair, before carefully and precisely removing tape and unfolding wrapping paper.

Ashley had made her a bracelet of six threads that looked complicated, with a vein that protruded and twisted around its length. She used the same colours as Rachel's makeshift engagement ring, and Rachel got a little misty as she let Ashley tie it on her wrist and then hugged her tight.

Sam, who had started giving her drawings several times a week, had decided on the more-store-bought but no-less-personal gift of tea, flavours that he had specially chosen with Rachel in mind, and she told him that she'd think of him every time she made a cup.

Finally, Chandler came to kneel beside her, handing her a wide, flat box. She held it in her hands and shook it, giving him a questioning glance before opening it to find a sheet of paper with the heading, _Saint Louis County Missouri_ , and under that the title, _Civil Marriage Ceremonies_. She read down the sheet, finding information about acquiring a marriage licence, a list of rules for the ceremonies, and the schedule for when they would be performed.

She looked up at Chandler again, and he said nervously, "Not that I'm trying to rush you," at which Ashley crawled over to read the title of the page and say, "You should get married today."

"Ashley!" Chandler said, and Rachel laughed.

"The courts aren't open today, sweetie, and even if they were, according to this you can only get married on a Wednesday."

"This Wednesday, then," Ashley said, and Chandler groaned.

"Well, we'd miss the Valentine's rush," Rachel said offhandedly, and Chandler froze. "There isn't much to plan. Not sure I'd ever have had a white wedding, but certainly not now. A few friends, maybe some flowers."

"What are you saying?"

Looking around for her phone, she found Chandler's instead, and opened the calendar app. "Wednesday is January 6. Next is the 13th, 20th, 27th. Any preference?"

He should have spoken, but his mind was blank and seemed to have abandoned control of his body, so she looked at the kids instead.

"Right now!" Sam said, and Ashley poked him gently.

"As soon as possible," she said instead.

"The sixth, then," Rachel said to Chandler, who was now gaping with his mouth hanging open and his eyebrows drawn together. "Any objection?"

He somehow managed to shake his head no, and she grinned, reaching a hand up to his cheek and leaning to kiss him. He managed that, too, though he was still mostly in shock.

When they'd put another Christmas movie on and piled onto the couch, Chandler texted Tex: _We're getting married on Wednesday…._ With exactly that many periods.

 **Tex:** _a) fuck you b) you alright man? Looks like you might've passed out on the keyboard there._

 **Chandler:** _?_

 **Tex:** _Ok. Did she break you? I'm getting the impression she broke you._

 **Chandler:** _?_

 **Tex:** _Ok. Just chill man. You're gonna be ok._

 **Chandler:** _?_

A second later, Rachel looked at her phone and laughed, handing it to Chandler.

 **Tex:** _Is he breathing? Check his pulse. Damn doc, you did a number on him this time._

Chandler already had one arm around her waist, and he wrapped the other one around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest. "Tex is telling stories again."

"Sure he is," she said into his shirt, her tone somehow both soothing and sarcastic.

He rubbed his hand over her back, then dropped his arm, and she shifted until she could watch the movie comfortably again.

The day was Christmas redux in as many ways as possible, right down to Tex inviting them over for a welcome-home dinner (albeit more casual and less involved than a full turkey dinner). They picked up Jed on the way and informed him of their plans. Rachel would have the first week of January off to replace her Christmas holidays, Tex and Tom would have to take a day off, and they'd call the kids in sick for school. You only get married once, right? Or twice. But definitely not three times.

Dinner was happier and louder than Christmas Day's had been, and Tom insisted they take another group photo, with a proper camera this time. Tex raised a toast to the happy couple, and after dinner Rachel followed him into the kitchen with a stack of dirty plates. She hopped up on the counter as he started loading the dishwasher, and he gave her an amused look.

"That was kind of you to say," she said, kicking her dangling feet a little.

"Well, I am the best man."

"I mean, considering."

He stood up from the dishwasher, looking to the ceiling for a second and clearing his throat. "If you have something to say…"

She leaned on her hands, curling her fingers around the edge of the counter. Gnawing on her lip and staring hard at the ground, she said, "I just want to make sure everything is okay between us. I mean, between the three of us. It can't… necessarily be easy…"

Walking around the open dishwasher, he stood beside her and leaned his back up against the counter she was sitting on. Bracing his own hands on the edge, behind him, he was silent for a moment. When she glanced up at his face, his eyes were narrowed, staring across the kitchen.

"I never meant to hurt you…" she added tentatively, and he cut a hand through the air.

"Stop," he said, looking sideways at her with a small smile. "Jesus, you've had three different men to concern yourself with in the past few months and I think my rightful place is at the very, very bottom of that list. The commodore won that fight fair and square."

"Hmm," she said, lightly teasing. "Not sure how I feel about combat metaphors."

"Okay. But he did win your heart—probably the first time y'all met. I wish I'd been there to see it. Probably would have saved me a lot of grief."

"Now, honestly—"

"Nah," he cut her off gently. "I'm a foolish man who may have done some foolish things, but I'm not gonna regret appreciating you and taking my shot. Y'all are so, so disgustingly happy together, and I don't begrudge that for a second. You're a happy memory, and a good friend. Okay? Nothing to concern yourself with, not anymore."

Rachel pushed down on her hands, straightening her back, and inhaled and exhaled a long breath. Then she tipped her head and sent him a sidelong smile. "I heard something about a teacher."

Tex laughed, shaking his head. "Of course you did." He paused. "Well, I do gotta admit my ego took a little ding, back then. I mean, it probably needed it, but this girl… she's real nice. Not sure I'm nice enough for her, though she did agree to a second date."

She kept her eyes on him, and he kept his eyes on the other side of the room, and she watched him a minute before saying, "You were one of the best things on that ship. One of the kindest souls. Keep it up, and don't be an ass, and you'll be just fine."

"Wow." He laughed again, looking over at her. "That's some homegrown dating advice. Thanks, doc."

Reaching one hand up, she patted it on his shoulder blade, then hopped back down to stand on her feet. "Any time, brother."

She walked back out of the kitchen and found Chandler at the table, stacking dirty dishes. He looked up when she crossed the threshold and she smiled at him, her eyes crinkling as she walked up to him and rose on her tiptoes, kissing him.

"Hey," he said quietly, the others having moved over to the couch. "I didn't want to interrupt. All good?"

She laid her hand on his cheek, kissing him once more and then settling back on her heels. "All good. Tex has a second date."

Chandler grinned at that, rubbing a hand up and down her arm as he said, "Why don't you go join the kids? I'll help him finish up."

She grinned back, bobbing her head and walking past as he carried another load into the kitchen. Tex gave him a mock salute in thanks, setting about putting the dishes in the racks, and Tom went back for a last pile, before leaning against the counter himself.

"Suppose that toast might count as your best man speech. They won't even let us read vows at the courthouse."

"Hm," Tex said, dropping a tab of detergent into the compartment and closing it before turning the dishwasher on. "Well, you still got what, six days? Five? We can rent out a room at a restaurant. Nothing too fancy, but privacy for toasts and such things."

"Yeah," Chandler said, "right. Proving your worth already."

"Mmhmm." Tex leaned against the other counter, over the now-running dishwasher. "Figures you can't come up with this stuff yourself, considering she broke you."

Chandler held his hands up, palms to the ceiling, in a helpless shrug. "Dude. Woman of your dreams decides you're getting married in less than a week, some executive functions flee. That's all I can say."

"Man, I understand it, I get it, but I'm still gonna mock it. You're whipped."

Chandler just stretched his arms out, exaggerating the shrug, and Tex nodded.

"That's what I thought."

They went out to join the others, finding that Rachel had been given pride of place on the couch, where she made room for Tom while Tex lounged on the floor.

On Monday, Tom went back to work, although he took a half day to line up with Rachel to apply for a marriage licence. There was a note on the website he'd printed out for her that said they had changed an old rule that required three working days between the acquisition of the licence and the wedding ceremony, which was good since they only had _two days_.

The process was painless and the wait short. Apparently the population of St. Louis—concentrated relative to other American cities, but much reduced relative to its recent past—didn't have as many uses for the Recorder of Deeds as they used to. They filled out the boxes on the form and were in and out in less than an hour.

Driving back to the apartment building, Chandler clutched Rachel's hand, glancing over at her every five seconds as if she were about to disappear, or as if the envelope on her lap was about to fly out an accidentally opened window and down the street, lost forever. Never mind that that she was stroking the back of his hand with her free one, or that the windows were closed, or that the damn office could just issue them another if they lost it.

His anxiety had ramped all the way up, which was both annoying and ridiculous. Surely he should be feeling calmer now, with their wedding two days away and their intent to wed governmentally approved on paper and in computer systems. Instead, he followed Rachel around the apartment like a kicked puppy, afraid to let her out of his sight.

When she had tucked the license away next to the wedding rings and changed into more comfortable clothes, she led him to the couch and pulled him down to sit beside her, saying, "What's going on?"

"Dunno," he grumbled, because he really didn't know why he was acting this way, and she set their clasped hands in her lap, watching him.

"We're getting married on Wednesday," she said.

He pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes at the other side of the room, his brow lowering and furrowing.

"I—do you—are you changing your mind?"

"No," he said instantly, defensively, meeting her eyes. She looked confused, helpless, and he squeezed his eyes shut, holding her hand tightly. "I'm… freaking out a little, but not about getting married." He fell silent again, opening his eyes and looking at her. She shifted toward him—she was always moving _toward_ him, which was why this felt like a betrayal to say. "I guess I feel like… it'll be so much worse… if we do this and then…"

He didn't want to say it, but she just shook her head, not getting it. "If you…" His voice was weak when he finally managed to say, "Change your mind. Later on. If you don't like being married. If you… go."

She dropped her chin, staring down at her lap, and he hated himself in that moment. She was quiet for a long time, and he just watched her, in agony but not wanting to say anything to make it worse. "What can I do?" she asked quietly, and when she finally looked up her eyes were so sad. "Tell me what to do and I'll do it."

He had to reach for her then, drawing her to his chest even as she curled her arms close to her own, letting him move her but turning inwards. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "You've done everything right. I'm just freaking out. I'm just scared."

She didn't say anything, just pulled her limbs in close to her body like a turtle hiding inside its shell.

"Aren't you scared?"

A long silence, and then she said, "I don't know what you want to hear. If it would make you feel better if I were scared too. But I'm not." She inhaled sharply, her throat catching on a sob, and then she was crying silently. "I'm not scared at all. I want this more than anything, I want to be family. I wouldn't… I wouldn't _do this_ if I thought I was going to change my mind. And maybe that's my fault, maybe I made you think I would—when you first asked—but that feels like a long time ago, doesn't it?"

She cried into his shirt as he held her, feeling like a monster and the worst person on earth, but after a while she calmed down a little and shifted until her ear was over his heart, extending one of her hands to press flat against his side. When her breathing was steadier, she spoke with a cathartic calmness: "I never had a family. Whatever I had, I don't remember. I'm never going to do anything to risk this family. If I can't promise you anything else, I can promise you that. I _love_ you—" a half-caught sob, "—and I love Ash and Sam. I'm not going anywhere."

"Okay," he said, one arm holding her close to her chest and the other hand rubbing over her back. He felt that same stillness come over him, even though he hadn't shed any tears. "I think I needed to hear that. I understand, and I believe you. I shouldn't have doubted you. Can you forgive me?"

She turned her cheek slightly, pressing her face into his chest, and then picked her head up and placed her hand on his cheek, kissing him. "It's okay," she said, kissing him between every sentence. "You're allowed to be afraid. It's okay for me to cry. You haven't hurt me. You're allowed to be honest. Don't ever feel like you can't be honest with me." That said, she drew out the last kiss, hooking her elbow around the back of his neck and holding herself close to his chest.

He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and smoothed the other one down over her back, making sure her legs were out of the way before he lay her down on the couch, settling her gently and lying on his side next to her, bringing his hand up to her face and cradling her jaw as he kissed her. It wasn't sexual, in that moment, and when he broke the kiss it was to rest his head on her chest and wrap his arm around her waist.

"I love you so much," he said softly, and she curved her arm around the back of his head, her fingers brushing through his hair as she held him there.

"We're getting married on Wednesday," she said, again, quietly.

"Yeah, we are."


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** _Lyrics from Shining by X Ambassadors._

* * *

 _I've been living in the dark for a long, long time,  
but I see better at night, baby, 'cause you, you are my shining star.  
'Cause you, you are my shining, you are my shining star,  
and I'll hold you closer if you're going supernova.  
You will be, you will be forever my shining,  
ever my shining star._

If he held her tighter than ever that night, he slept more soundly, too. He went to work, leaving early with a kiss to her forehead , and tried to do three times the work to make up for taking another two days off (because even if they wouldn't have a honeymoon, going to work the day after marrying the woman of his dreams was beyond imagining).

Rachel, for her part, went shopping with Bertrise for a dress—not a wedding dress, not white, not lacy or floor-length, but a dress for her wedding. She didn't text Chandler a photo, and when he finally got home close to six, both kids hollered for him from the living room.

Before he could _indoor voices_ them, Sammy flung a hand toward the other side of the room and said, "She wouldn't show us until you got home!"

Rachel was curled up in the arm chair, the hand in front of her face almost hiding her smile, and her eyes crinkled at him when he looked over.

He grinned back and said, "Bad luck?" as in, _Isn't it bad luck for the groom to see the bride's dress before the wedding?_

She unfolded her legs, walking over to kiss him hello, and said, "Bad luck can try," like it was a battle and they would win. "Anyway," as she turned to walk back to the bedroom and get changed, "we have to wait in the courtroom like cattle." She stopped at the beginning of the hall and turned back. "If you have an attachment to outdated superstitions as such, we'll have to change our plans." She raised her eyebrows, holding one hand up with her fingers curling toward the ceiling, and he shook his head, his grin undisturbed.

He joined the kids on the couch, amused by their bouncing impatience, and then Rachel came back down the hall dressed in a deep forest green dress. It went down to her knees and draped elegantly over her body, her arms bare and the neckline framing her neck and collar bones so that she looked somehow both dainty and strong.

She stopped in the middle of the room and did a turn, her mouth turning up at the yells and applause from the children, and then she looked to Chandler.

Standing up from the couch, he walked over to her and took her hands in his, looking into her eyes. The green of the dress made the green tint to her eyes pop in an almost otherworldly way, and he took a step back, holding her hands out to the side and taking in the whole picture.

She watched him, her smile drifting away as she bit down on her lower lip, her chest rising and falling with careful breaths, and he took that same step forward, his hands moving to her waist as he dipped his head to kiss her, tugging on her bottom lip gently as she released it from between her teeth. He kissed her again, then moved to her ear, their cheeks pressing together as he said softly, "You are stunning. I am the luckiest man alive." She started to move away and he held her in place, adding, "Or dead," before letting her go.

She was beaming, her whole face lit up, and he couldn't help but remember the first time he complimented her in a dress, the way her face lit up then, too, but shyly, dismissively. Her smile now was wholehearted, taking over her face and turning her into the sun, shining so brightly her light fell upon everything her eyes did.

As she went back down the hall to change, he dropped onto the couch, his thoughts swirling like a tornado of confetti. _If I had the words, I would tell you I think you're an angel. I think you're the sun, lighting up all the dark corners in our lives. I think you share your light without even realizing it, making everything around you bright, and everyone, too. You light up my children in ways I never could, and 'luckiest man alive' doesn't cut it. There aren't adequate words in the English language, and even if there were, I wouldn't have access to them. How can I ever tell you? You changed our lives._

She came back out in comfortable clothes and joined them on the couch, burrowing into his side, and he decided that after dinner he would lock himself alone in his room, determined to find words for at least part of it, for his vows. Tex had contacted all their favourite restaurants, and a tiny Thai place they loved had agreed to shut their doors for the evening, because business was slow Wednesday evenings anyway, and also _anything for Doctor Rachel_ _on her wedding day!_

Last-minute invitations had been communicated by email and phone to a select few colleagues and former colleagues, to share a simple dinner and celebrate their marriage. Tex would give a toast and Tom and Rachel would read their vows, although Chandler was pretty sure he was going to be having a panic attack through the whole thing. But he was determined. One of the reasons the whole Doctor Rachel mythos was so amusing to him was that he agreed with all of it. Anything for her, yes, he would do it for her.

When the kids went to their rooms to do homework, Chandler and Rachel went to their opposite corners with notebooks and pens, staying put until they were satisfied, and Chandler refused to count how many pages he tore out and then crumpled with the intent to burn or shred. It was hard, and no well-meaning advice like _write from the heart_ or _just start writing and see what comes out_ made it any easier.

At midnight, after the kids had said goodnight and put themselves to bed, Chandler came out to ask Rachel to please come sit with him, because maybe having her there would make the words come out.

They went to bed an hour later, only because they had to be at the courthouse at 12, and when Rachel had snuggled up to his side she said, "Do we really have to read them in front of everyone?"

"I don't know," he said, no more excited about it than she was. "I think there's a reason for it… although come to think of it, it could easily be one of those outdated superstitions you're so fond of."

"Pfft. Yeah. But I suppose now we've gone and invited people, we've got to give them _something_."

"Damn," Chandler said, "you're right. That was a mistake."

"That website said we don't even need witnesses. We could have eloped."

Chandler sighed a massive, exaggerated sigh, and then she giggled and he couldn't even keep a straight face for five seconds. "We've done everything wrong," he said, in what was supposed to be a faux-serious, dejected tone, but instead carried his smile on every syllable.

"Ah well," she replied. "Best to just get it over with. No one will remember the wedding of Commander Chandler and Doctor Rachel. Memory of a goldfish, the lot of them."

He laughed, and she giggled more, hiding her face against his shirt. "Let's not even mention the fact that Ash will be filming everything for posterity. But it's gonna be fine, right?"

She patted a hand on his chest, then used it to push herself up enough to kiss him. Sliding her hand up over his neck to caress his cheek, she said, "It will be fine," serenely, and he almost had to believe her. She kissed him again, then settled back into his side, her hand curling on his chest back toward her mouth, and her slow breaths easing into sleep.

He stared at the ceiling a while longer, trying to run over the points of his vows, trying to work them into the crannies of his brain, but before long he had fallen asleep as well.

They all got to sleep in a bit for a weekday, gathering around the kitchen table at ten as Chandler made pancakes as well as eggs and fruit to keep their stamina up. After bathing and dressing, Chandler in his dress blues, the kids in their church clothes, and Rachel in her green dress, they got to the court house at twelve.

Chandler's heart was pumping, one of his hands holding onto Rachel's and the other one trying not to smear the ink on the marriage license as they waited for registration to open at twelve thirty. Nobody else seemed to be around, and the older woman behind the desk was surprised and pleased to see them.

"Usually I just open the door and hang around for an hour or so. We haven't had an actual wedding in weeks!"

Rachel grinned at him, even as she had to liberate her hand from his grip and replace it with a pen to sign what needed signing. The woman then left a note on her desk and personally escorted them to the courtroom, where a judge was seated outside the double doors reading a book. He looked up over his glasses at them and got to his feet, equally surprised, offering his hand to Chandler as he studied the markings on his suit.

"Captain Chandler," he said after a moment, then looked up at Chandler's face in surprise, before turning to Rachel. "And Doctor Scott! Angela, don't you realize who you have here?"

The woman who was with them covered her mouth with her hand, smiling. "Oops."

"We don't need any special treatment," Rachel said, laughing, as the judge reached to shake her hand as well and introduced himself.

"Judge Wilson, but call me Jack. Angela, have you come to watch?"

"Well," Angela said, "I was just so excited to have a wedding, but I didn't realize we were marrying celebrities today. Do you mind?" She looked around for an objection, finding only smiles, and put her hand up in the air before leading everyone into the courtroom.

They filed down the centre aisle, Tex and Jed sitting on one side in the second pew, and Sam and Ashley sitting on the other side. The kids were getting their cameras ready, Ashley being the photographer and Sammy doing video. Tom and Rachel stopped at the top of the aisle, just this side of the gate to the actual courtroom, and the judge passed them while Angela sat off to the side in the front row.

"Now," the judge said, moving Tom and Rachel into position with gentle nudges until they were standing before him, and opened a leather portfolio he was holding. "Technically, we essentially read out the things you're agreeing to and you agree to them, then you can exchange rings. Since it's just us and the dust, I don't see any reason why you can't read your own vows if you so choose."

Rachel's eyes darted to Chandler's, and they shared an ironic smile. "Unfortunately," Rachel said, "we've sort of promised our friends the opportunity to watch all of that."

"All right," the judge said, "then we won't be here long at all." He cleared his throat, straightening up, and Rachel and Tom clasped their hands between them, widening their eyes at each other. Sammy set his video camera on the back of the pew in front of him, pressing the record button, and Ashley stepped into the aisle to start taking photos.

The judge began to speak, projecting to the back of the room despite there being no one there to hear. "We are gathered together here in the presence of these witnesses to join this man and this woman in matrimony, which is an honorable estate, and is not to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly, but reverently and discreetly. If anyone can show just cause why this man and this woman may not lawfully

be joined together, let them speak now or hereafter remain silent." He paused, for show, and Tex hooted.

"Thomas Chandler, will you take this woman to be your wedded wife, to live together in the estate of matrimony? Will you love, honor and keep her; in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, keep yourself only unto her, as long as you both shall live?"

Tom took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then grinned at Rachel and said, "I will."

"Rachel Scott, will you take this man to be your wedded husband, to live together in the estate of matrimony? Will you love, honor and keep him; in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, keep

yourself only unto him, so long as you both shall live?"

Rachel was already grinning as wide as her face would allow, but she scrunched up her nose and stuck her tongue out between her teeth before saying, "Yes, I will."

"Now, Tom, please take Rachel by the hand and repeat after me." They repeated the vows, pretty much exactly as they'd already agreed to, and then the judge said, "For as much as Thomas Chandler and Rachel Scott have consented together in wedlock and have witnessed the same before this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth, each to the other, and have declared the same by joining hands. Now, by the authority vested in me by the State of Missouri and St. Louis County, I pronounce you to be husband and wife and extend to you my best wishes for a successful and happy

married life together. Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you Mr. & Mrs. Thomas Chandler."

Rachel laughed, full-throated with her mouth hanging open, and stepped forward to kiss Tom, and Jed and Tex stood up to applaud loudly as Tom wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her back, then lifted her into the air as she framed his face in her hands, still laughing. When he set her feet on the ground, she turned her face into his neck and wrapped her arms around behind, holding tight to him until the judge clapped them both on the backs.

They separated and shook his hand in turn as he congratulated them, and then Angela came over too, although she was more the bear hug type. Nobody could stop smiling for an instant, as Jed and Tex got their own handshakes and cheek kisses, and then the kids ran forward and hugged both of them at once.

"Oh my gosh you're married," Ashley said excitedly, looking up at them, and Rachel grinned back at her.

"How'd the pictures come out?"

"You're _glowing_!" she exclaimed, and Rachel looked to Tom, raising her eyebrows.

He nodded, pulling her close again to press a kiss to her temple. "Definitely glowing." Then he nudged her back a bit, staring at her for a moment as she tried to suppress her grin. He shook his head a little, bringing his hand up to cup her cheek, and said, "I doubt there's a camera that could capture how beautiful you look today."

She ducked her head, pursing her lips, but soon she was grinning again, motioning toward the door. "Let's get out of here, hmm?"


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** _Lyrics from What You Don't Do by Lianne La Havas._

* * *

 _I've been saving up my time so I could spend it all on you.  
Oh, all I need is to see you smile, I've forgotten how to be blue.  
I know what I got and I know where we're going,  
you don't need to show it, I already know it all.  
It's what you don't do, it's what you don't say.  
I know you love me, I don't need proof._

They had a few hours to kill before their dinner, so they headed to the nearest diner, taking up a large corner booth. Tex had custody of the papers and the rings, while Jed watched over the kids and their cameras, so Tom was only allowed to worry about keeping his arm firmly around Rachel's waist. Once they were seated, he buried his face in her hair, too happy to deal with small talk at the moment, and she took his free hand into her lap, her palm under his palm and her other hand stroking the back of it.

When the waitress came over, she said, "Let me guess…" and Tom looked up as she glanced over the party before pointing to the two of them. "Y'all just got married."

Rachel nodded, smiling, and Tom got distracted by staring at her again.

"Congratulations! It's been a while. Frank!" she yelled toward the service window. "Frank, we got us a couple of newlyweds!"

"No kidding!" The man in the back poked his head through, waving a spatula. "Congrats, folks! Pie's on the house."

The waitress tapped her pen on her order pad, turning back to them and saying, "That is, if you like pie. We've got a cake going too. Or hell, bacon if that's more to your taste."

Finally focusing on his menu (actually, on Rachel's menu over her shoulder, but what's mine is yours, right?), Chandler said to the rest of them, "This has to hold us until dinner, so fill up." To the waitress he said, "Just coffee and water for now, please."

She noted it down and nodded, walking away, and Rachel turned and said into his ear, "I'm not sure I'll be able to eat anything."

He caught her for a kiss and said quietly, "We've got time, so just order something and nibble. My stomach is in knots."

She smiled softly, kissing him again, and went back to her menu. "Maybe a salad…" she murmured, and he tipped his head against hers, looking over the menu.

"Bacon's a nibbling food, right?"

"If you'll eat it cold, _anything_ 's a nibbling food."

"I like the way you think."

"Dad!" Ashley's voice came from the other side of the table, where everyone else had been occupied with something (or in Tex's case, adamantly ignoring them). "Wanna see the pictures?"

"Yes, I absolutely do," he replied, reaching out for the camera, which was carefully passed from person to person around the table considering it was precious cargo. He held it in front of the two of them and pressed the gallery button twice to make sure they were at the start. The first pictures were of the outside of the courthouse and a few of the hallways, which must have been while he and Rachel were signing papers. Then the group of them piled up outside the courtroom, heading down the aisle, and finally Tom and Rachel facing each other in front of the judge.

Ashley must have been clicking the shutter like crazy; she captured the ironic look they'd shared, the serious expression on Tom's face before he agreed to the vows and the grin that broke across Rachel's face as soon as he did. When they had to repeat the vows back, their eye contact locked, they looked focused, committed, and then the judge said his thing ( _something something wedlock blah blah I now pronounce you husband and wife_ ) and the smiles crept back up their faces until Rachel's laugh, which Ashley captured in three quick shots. Their kiss, the hug, and then each congratulations in turn, before Ashley and Sammy finally ran up to get their own hugs.

Chandler closed his eyes for a second, pulling Rachel closer and leaning his forehead against the side of her head, and then he looked across the table at Ashley. "You've got a future in photography, sweetie. And Sam, I can't wait to watch your video."

The waitress came back with a tray of coffees and waters, then Chandler handed her the camera and asked her to take a picture of the whole table. After they mugged for the camera and placed their food orders, Chandler rested his head on the high back of the booth and Rachel turned into him, slipping her arm behind him and resting her head on his shoulder. He picked up his mug, sipping at his coffee, and even though they weren't talking, they were so obviously in their own peaceful bubble that no one bothered them.

Chandler didn't need a conversation just then. It was more than enough to be with her, and with them, disconnected from the world around them and even just across the booth, where Ash and Sam were talking excitedly about something or other with Tex and Jed.

He sipped his coffee, and Rachel ignored her tea, and once when he set his mug down she reached for his hand and he gave it to her. Holding his left hand in her right, just for a second, before letting it go and saying softly, "I wish we had our rings."

He laughed gently, catching her hand back and kissing her knuckles. "We'll have them in a few hours. But I agree." They'd settled on exchanging rings when they read their own vows that evening, but it did feel weird to be married without a ring.

She rotated their hands so that she could kiss _his_ knuckles, and then let him get back to his coffee sipping, settling into his side again with a sigh.

When the food arrived, Rachel took her arm back and slid closer to the table, her dignified posture taking her straight out of reach, and he sighed as he had to sit up to get anywhere near her. Dragging himself upright, he slumped against her shoulder. "Why did you go so far away?"

She speared a piece of lettuce from her salad and pointed the fork in his direction. "To make your life difficult, of course." Her free hand felt around under the table, finding his and holding it at the edge of her thigh where it butted up against his. "Also, to not get salad dressing on my nice dress."

"That's fair," he said back, sitting up and reaching for a piece of bacon. "Want some bacon?"

"I can't believe you ordered a plate of bacon," she said, giving it a disgusted look as she popped the lettuce into her mouth, chewed and swallowed. "You should eat at least half of my salad."

"If you eat at least half of my bacon," he returned, half-joking as he bit the strip he was holding clean in half. "I can afford a little bacon."

Dropping his hand, she laid hers on his thigh and squeezed, and he did his best not to jump as she smoothed her hand toward his knee and picked up his hand again, saying, "That's not the point."

On a second's delay, he ate the other half of his bacon and then said, "What?"

"Balance," she said, snagging a piece of bacon from his plate and taking a dainty bite off the end. "Balance is key."

He wasn't listening, watching her profile until she turned to smile at him and he could kiss her. She kissed him back, then scrunched up her nose and turned back to her salad.

"Bacon lips," she said, and he grinned.

"You or me?" he said, and without waiting for an answer, "Isn't it, like, natural lip balm? You know, they make bacon lip balm. They sell it in stores. At least, they did before."

"Literally disgusting. I'll stick with olive oil."

"Fair," he said again, and munched on bacon for a minute before adding, "Aside from your choice in husband, you have pretty good taste."

"It's a little late to be self-deprecating."

"That's the beauty of it," he said, purposefully speaking with his mouth full of half-chewed bacon like the animal he was, though he stopped short of spitting crumbs. "You're stuck with me now." He glanced to the side, and she was smiling down at her salad.

"I'm not," she said quietly, "and this is not a game I'll play, so you needn't pursue it."

He chewed, swallowed, carefully wiped his hands and mouth on his napkin, then wrapped his arm around her back and pressed his lips to her cheek, holding her against his side for a minute. "I love you," he said into her skin, and she sighed and said "I love you" back.

Loitering over their food, followed by pie, they managed to while away the hours until they were due at the restaurant, and Chandler left a one-hundred percent tip on their bill in thanks for the hospitality. They caravanned over to the restaurant, then Tex ran back out to pick up the flowers he'd ordered, and they used them to decorate the room, turning up the lights a bit and adding splashes of colour. Tex and the restaurant owner got the sound system squared away, a mic set up at the front of the room and a playlist for background music.

Before long, people started to arrive, and Tom and Rachel stayed by the door to greet them all—the folk from the ship who hadn't found work or family elsewhere, some of Rachel's new scientist colleagues she'd grown close to, and a few of the people who worked directly under and with Tom at the office. It was an interesting mix, and Chandler found himself glad that they weren't having a traditional wedding, imagining poring over seating plans for a group of people who by rights should never have come together.

When it seemed like everyone had arrived, Chandler slipped his arm around Rachel's waist and they turned to look over the room.

"Strange, isn't it?" Rachel murmured, and Tom laughed.

"Almost time. You ready?"

"Definitely not."

"Me neither."

They took their seats and Tex claimed the microphone, looking not-half-bad in his suit and neatly combed hair.

"Welcome, everyone," he said formally. "We are here today to celebrate the marriage of Tom Chandler and Rachel Scott, known to some as the saviours of humanity." He smirked, and everyone laughed, before he got serious again, microphone in one hand and the other one in his pocket. "Those of us who were on the ship know that, while they didn't do any of this alone, none of it would have happened without their leadership. When you consider the weight that sat on their shoulders, one they could only share with one another, it's no real surprise we ended up here.

"Each of them felt the responsibility for the entire human race, and each of them would have taken that burden alone if they could have. That is what makes them so perfect together. They love selflessly. They give all of themselves, so they need a partner who will do the same, so they can continue to give to others. It's incredible, really; a real fairy tale, if a fairy tale can take place in the aftermath of an apocalypse.

"I think they've proved that it can, and in doing so, have reminded us all to hold out hope. Jesus, that's corny as hell." He ducked his head, getting another laugh, and rubbed his free hand over the back of his neck. "But true. So thank you, Tom and Rachel, for being that light at the end of the tunnel. For real." A glass of beer was waiting on a table to his side, and he raised it into the air. "To Tom and Rachel, and a lifetime of disgusting, obnoxious, nauseating, and… beautiful happiness."

"To Tom and Rachel," came the chorus, and Chandler looked over at Rachel, who'd been clutching his hand tightly since Tex began speaking. Tears were in her eyes, and he hated to admit it, but they were in his, too, as he stood to give Tex a manly hug and slap on the back. Rachel stood, too, hugging Tex for a long moment and then taking Tom's hand again as they walked to the mic stand.

With their backs to the room, they shared a terrified look, and Tom leaned over to say into her ear, "It's just us, okay? Just you and me."

She nodded, squeezing his hand, and they turned to face the tables, Chandler taking the mic.

"Thank you all for coming. Rachel and I have agreed to say our vows before you all tonight, which we are… regretting deeply, but if Tex can do it, so can we." A laugh, and he turned to face her, taking her hand in his free one. He had to stop for a minute, stare at her and take a deep breath and stare at her some more, reminding himself that he was speaking to her and only her.

Bringing the mic back up to his face, he began, "The thought I keep coming back to is _I never expected you_. The day we met, I remember so clearly, because you weren't what I'd expected to see, but even as we finally got to know each other and to work together, when I got to know _you_ , I didn't—I never expected you. Even when I began to believe you could save the world, I never expected that you would step into my life and turn it around so completely. Step into my heart and remind me how it felt to let everything ride on just one smile."

She had been watching him intently, but at that she smiled, and he smiled back, his heart lifting in his chest.

"This family we've made, I know, has been forged in the fire, and to some extent so have we, but you and I are not bound by steel…" He paused, took another breath, held her hand a little tighter. "Not held together by anything external. We hold to each other, every day and every night, growing stronger as we do. I won't let go if you don't."

He closed his eyes for a second, relief that he'd gotten through it washing over him, and Rachel squeezed his hand. When he looked at her again, she was smiling softly, and then she took the microphone from his hand.

"You surprised me, too," she started thoughtfully, "though not the day we met. You were exactly what I expected a naval captain to look like." That got a laugh. "Every day after that… you never were what I expected you to be. Even knowing you were kind, your kindness surprised me. Even knowing you were steadfast. When I got shot, I thought… I might have been alone, but I never was. When Michael came back, I thought you might have left, but you never, ever did. Even before I knew you loved me, you proved it to me over and over again.

"You made it all so easy, so simple. To trust; to have faith; to love. Things I've struggled with all my life, but never with you, because you are kind, and steadfast, and true, and I couldn't ask for a better love. As long as you want me, I'll be here."

Another wave of relief, mixed with love and amazement, and he kissed her, the hand that wasn't holding hers finding the small of her back as he held her hand close to his chest and bent her back slightly, and he was vaguely aware of applause and whooping from the crowd. "I love you," he whispered against her lips, "I love you, I love you."

She kissed him again, fiercely, and then he remembered they were in a room full of people and straightened up, taking the mic from her hand and turning to set it down on the table and pick up the box that held their rings. She smiled, mouthed _Finally_ at him, and he let go of her hand to open the box and pluck out her ring. She took his, and he set the box down again so he could take her left hand in his and reverently slide the ring onto her finger, staring at it with nothing in his mind but thanks. He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it, and then gave her his hand to go through the same process.

That done, he drew her close and wrapped his arms around her, holding her with that same amazement in his chest, and said, "We are one hundred percent married."

"Not quite."

" _What?_ " he hissed, and she started laughing, couldn't stop even when he set her back to look at her face, ducking her head so her hair would fall across her face as she laughed and laughed.

Finally, she pushed up onto her toes, speaking into his ear as she said, "Doesn't a marriage still need to be consummated to be legal, or is that only in England?"

"Oh my god." He started laughing and she dropped back to her heels, hiding her face against his chest and giggling. "You wanna go in the restroom and get it over with?"

She smacked the back of her hand against his chest, unable to speak, and he grinned, rubbing her back for a moment before taking her hand and leading her back to their table.

"What's so funny?" Sammy asked, which sent them into a fresh fit of hysterics, and Chandler only managed to say, "We're just happy, bud." The kids couldn't help giggling along, and by the time the food was served they all had sore stomachs and cheek muscles.

Chandler tried to stop smiling long enough to eat, but it was just about impossible. He was too happy to think, too happy to be anything but happy, so he just smiled and ate and watched his happy family, life on pause.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** _Lyrics from Reaper by Sia._

* * *

 _So come back when I'm good and old,  
I got drinks to drink and men to hold,  
I got good things to do with my life.  
Oh, I wanna dance in the open breeze,  
feel the wind in my hair, hear the ocean sing,  
I got good things to feel in my life._

The party didn't go overly late, with most people having work in the morning, though it was still far past the kids' bedtimes when Rachel and Tom left the elevator that would carry Jed and the kids to Tom's floor. They'd decided to spend their twenty-four hours of 'honeymoon' in Rachel's soon-to-be decommissioned apartment, since it almost felt as impersonal as a hotel at this point. Tex had arranged for the place to be cleaned, fresh flowers on the counter and a bottle of champagne in the fridge.

As soon as Tom locked the door behind them, Rachel turned and wrapped her arms around him, her cheek pressed to his chest, and they stood there quietly for a long time. He rubbed his hand up and down her back, slow and in time with their breathing, until she murmured, "I'll fall asleep right here."

"Okay, sweetheart." He kept one arm around her waist, walking her down the hall to the bedroom, and pushed her gently toward the bathroom.

They had overnight bags, and she changed into a tank top and PJ shorts before crawling into bed as he used the bathroom. She managed to stay awake until he was in bed with her so she could snuggle up close to his chest, and then she held her left hand up and said, "Hey."

He smiled, bringing his left hand up to meet hers, and they admired their rings for a moment before Rachel cracked her jaw on a massive yawn. She nuzzled her face back into his chest, now covered in a soft t-shirt instead of his stiff dress blues, and he cradled her body in his arms.

"Love you," she said sleepily, her hand fisting around the cotton of his shirt. "Good wedding."

"Yeah," he sighed, dropping his chin to rest on the top of her head, one hand smoothing through her hair. "Good wedding."

They slept deep and long, waking up in almost the exact position they'd fallen asleep in, and Chandler didn't move as he waited for Rachel to wake up, his arms still holding her close. He must have shifted, though, since she woke up soon after, drawing her arms in close to her chest and then blinking up at him.

She didn't say anything, her blinks turning into a long stare as she rested her head on the pillow and, a moment later, raised her hand to lay it on his cheek. "Hello," she said finally. "We're married."

He smiled, automatic, his heart tugging like a helium balloon in his chest, and she shifted forward to kiss him softly, slow and dreamy like they hadn't quite woken up, like this bed was heaven and they were visiting for just a little while.

"Are you hungry?" he asked between kisses, and she set her head back down on the pillow, looking at him.

"Probably."

"What are you in the mood for?"

She replied by ducking her head back under his chin, wrapping her arm around his back and nuzzling his chest, and he laughed.

"Let's aim for breakfast before noon, okay?"

"What time is it now?"

"Hmm." His phone was—actually he didn't even know where his phone was, though judging by the light it was somewhere between ten and eleven a.m. "Just let me know if you get hungry. And don't go back to sleep."

"I'm not sleepy," she murmured. "Just happy."

He smiled again, his arms wrapping all the way around her back, and closed his eyes, happy to have her tucked securely in his arms. They didn't move for a long time, and then he felt Rachel take an especially deep breath, her body tensing and then releasing, and her hand slid down his back to the hem of his shirt. She slipped her hand underneath, running it up over the skin of his back and pushing the shirt up with it, then leaned back when his arms got in the way and gave him a look.

He reached behind his head and tugged the shirt off, then returned her look and said, "Are you hungry?"

"Oh my god," she laughed, taking her own top off in one fluid motion, and he got a little distracted as she went on, "Why are you obsessed with feeding me?"

His hands went to her back, flat against either side of her rib cage, and he lifted her body as he ducked his head and murmured absently, "You have to eat," before pressing his open mouth to her breast.

She inhaled sharply, her head tipping back as her hands braced on his shoulders, and that conversation was over.

They did make it to the kitchen before noon, if only by the skin of their teeth, and Rachel went to the sound system while Chandler got ingredients out of the fridge. She plugged her phone in and pressed play on a Sinatra song and Chandler looked up, smiling.

"We never did get our wedding dance," he said, and she smiled back, looking around and then holding her arms out to him. "Really?"

"Why not?" she replied, and he closed the fridge, walking over to her and wrapping one arm around her waist, folding his other hand around one of hers as she rested the other one on his shoulder. They were both in bare feet and pyjamas and he started them swaying, rocking from one foot to the other and gradually moving in a small circle. After a moment, Rachel slid her hand down and under his arm, wrapping around his back so she could comfortably lay her head on his chest, and said, "I can't remember the last time I slow-danced."

"Can you believe," he said softly, "the military used to make us dress up and attend dinner-dances."

"Like an American prom for grown-ups?"

"And mandatory." He could have gone on about how he and Darien had always had fun anyway, but it seemed wrong to talk about her on their 'honeymoon.' He also could have asked whether she and Michael hadn't ever attended a wedding or a banquet together, but again… They carried on dancing, and he rubbed his hand up and down her back before pressing a kiss to the top of her head and stepping away. When she pouted at him, he said, "You are very skinny. I'm going to make you breakfast."

She fought a grin, but clearly realized that she couldn't argue with such prudent logic, taking her seat at the kitchen table and crossing one leg over the other. Going back to the fridge, Chandler first removed and uncorked the champagne, setting it on the table along with the jug of orange juice, before fetching two water glasses from the cupboard.

"Mimosas," he said. "The only acceptable way to drink before sunset. "

"These glasses are enormous," she said mildly as she picked up the champagne bottle. "What's the ratio?"

"One to one?" He shrugged, lining the ingredients for French toast up on the counter. "Not like we have to go anywhere today."

By the time they'd gotten down their breakfasts and one full glass of mimosa, Rachel was loose and giggly, silly and happy and when they'd moved to the couch with fresh drinks on the coffee table, she held out her hand and said, "Hey," and they admired their rings again. "We're married," she said, before falling into his side and giggling, her hair in her face.

He laughed too, wrapping his arm around her and squeezing her briefly. "You are such a lightweight."

"Fair." She nodded, snuggling into his side and then giggling again for no reason at all. "What movie should we watch?"

"That's up to you. I'm easy."

Of course, they only had what was on the shelf, so Rachel got up to assess the selection, which was mostly whatever they hadn't taken upstairs to watch on slumber party nights. "Okay," she said, pulling a case from the shelf. "Going back in time a little." She held up the case—Maid in Manhattan—as she read the back. "2002! Why did Jennifer Lopez stop making romantic comedies, anyhow?"

"Are you a fan?" he asked as she put the disk in the player and came back to the couch.

She curled up at his side again, rolled her eyes, then paused. "Yes. I would date her."

He laughed out loud, incredulous, and said, "You would not! We're married!"

"She's probably dead anyway."

"Holy shit." He pointed an index finger at the glasses on the coffee table. "I should cut you off."

"That wouldn't be very Ralph Fiennes of you," she said, aiming the remote at the TV where the loading screen showed Ralph and Jennifer looking very lovey-dovey, and pressing play.

"I don't think I'm much like Ralph Fiennes at all," Chandler said back, sliding down the couch a bit to get more comfortable, his arm snugly around her shoulders.

"Fair point." She dropped the remote and settled into his side, her head on his chest and her arm over his middle. "Plus, I think he yells at her at one point. That is not very Tom Chandler of him."

"So we've established that Ralph Fiennes and I are not the same person."

"He's probably dead too."

"Which I am not."

"Exactly. You win." She picked up her head to smile at him and he caught her for a kiss, then she laid her head back down and Tom folded his hand around Rachel's where it rested on his side.

Watching the movie mostly consisted of Rachel making mildly snarky remarks and crying at least three times, and when it ended she stayed sniffling against his chest long enough that he nudged her shoulder and said, "Sweetheart?", slightly worried.

She sat up, leaning her head on the back of the couch, her eyes spilling tears, and said, "I'm happy." He frowned, and she nodded. "I am. Of course I am. It's just—" She sighed, closing her eyes, dripping tears onto the fabric of the couch cushion. Then she looked at him again, a little wince pinching the features of her face. "I remember loving you when I wasn't supposed to. When you… were married. When we were on the ship. For about five minutes, before I told myself to stop feeling that, to feel anything else—for those five minutes, I loved you so much."

She pressed a hand to her chest, taking a deep breath. "I never felt as alone on that ship as I did when I knew I couldn't love you."

His chest ached, too. "When was this?"

She smiled slightly, a sad smile, and closed her eyes again. "When we ran out of water and finally reached land, and everyone was celebrating… I searched for you on the beach, and Tex tried to grab me, and I found you on the ship… I walked away knowing that I loved you, that I couldn't love you, that I had to stop. Sometimes I think Tex was right when he said you had my heart as soon as we met. Sometimes I think I was born loving you."

Tom could never, would never suggest that he felt any regret for his marriage to Darien or for his children, but moments like this he wished he had something more to give Rachel. Some one-true, soulmate, I-would-choose-you-over-anyone kind of love. A romantic comedy kind of love.

He reached for her, said, "I love you so much," and she came back into his arms, pressing her tearstained face into his neck and saying, "I'm so happy. So happy."

Rubbing one hand up and down her back, he said slowly, "I can't wait to officially live in the same place. I can't wait to pile into the car every morning, take the kids to school and then drop you off at work. I can't wait for family dinners every single night, except for date nights. I can't wait to watch our wedding video on our one year anniversary and look back on how boring and domestic we've been. I can't wait to be married to you."

"I love you," she said back, one hand on his shoulder and the other wrapping around the back of his head, her face tucked into the curve of his neck. Shifting her legs around to lay over his lap, she curled up against his chest and sighed. He held her close, his arms wrapping around her waist and clasping at her hip, and they stayed there in silence for a long time.

"Don't fall asleep," he said eventually, his voice rough.

"I know, right?" she said, twisting slightly, closer to his chest. "Wouldn't that be nice. A good nap. A lovely, long, cozy nap. Mmm."

He smiled, nudging her to sit up. "What can we do instead of napping?"

She sighed, drooping with an exaggerated pout, then shifted off his lap and onto the couch, squinting and then blinking hard and shaking her head. "We'd better go for a walk. To the coffee shop."

So they did, bundling up against the January cold while thanking it for the jolt they needed to wake up. After picking up their drinks, they wandered around downtown a bit more, finding a bench to huddle up on and people-watch. They visited their favourite Indian restaurant for dinner, and when the bill came Rachel looked to Tom and said, "Can we please go home now?"

They didn't quite make it to twenty-four hours of honeymoon, but they couldn't bear to be away from the kids any longer. As soon as they walked back into Tom's place—their place— _home_ —Ash and Sam ran up for happy, excited hugs, and they sat down in the living room with cookies from the coffee shop and herbal tea from Rachel's collection. The next day, Rachel's last day of vacation, she would move the rest of her stuff upstairs and leave the apartment for someone else to make use of.

While the kids told them about their days at school and Rachel and Tom sipped their tea, Tom couldn't help looking around the room, breathing deep into the moment and sighing it back out.

If theirs was a post-apocalyptic fairy tale, this was their happy ending, and he couldn't love it more.

THE END


End file.
